Prologue to 'To Die and Live Again'
by Lanfear Lady of Chaos
Summary: What happens when someone is truly broken? Rating for torture and violence. Stand alone.
1. Capture

Lain crouched on the ground, his blade held out to bar the encircling Whitecloaks. He floated calmly in the Void, studiously ignoring his many wounds. He bled from a dozen places, his dark blood staining the packed earth. They were far outnumbered, a least fifty of their enemies still standing. It had been carelessness on his part that had gotten them into this mess, thinking they were safe within Tar Valon territory. Now, the disturbed Whitecloak group swarmed around them, intent upon their prey. His Mileni also bled, her wounds fortunately lesser than his. He had the bond to help him, now the only thing keeping him on his feet.

The fighting was momentarily stalled, the men in front unwilling to be the first forward, and the first to die. Suddenly, at a furious roar from their Captain, they sprang forward. Lain managed to cut down four before the rest bore him to the ground. Faintly, he heard Mileni screaming. Of course. She could feel his wounds, and the Whitecloaks on top of his were stabbing downwards mercilessly. He curled, protecting his neck and vital organs, a dagger coming quickly out of his clothes. He slashed at the men holding him, catching one across the eyes without warning. The man screamed, falling backwards and clawing at his face. Freed, Lain rolled out from beneath another's legs. He jumped to his feet, looking towards his Aes Sedai.

She was throwing balls of fire rapidly at the nearest group of men, fury painted on her face. She looked towards him, and their eyes met. They both smiled instantly. Suddenly, she stumbled backwards, surprise evident in her face. A dart protruded from her breast, barely an inch of it above the skin. Turning white, she looked at him one last time, and fell backwards. Dead.

Lain screamed, his entire being in pain. Mileni! His vision went white, his eyes seeing only her. He stood in shock, too surprised to even begin crying. A faint tug at the back of one of his legs, and he fell, unable to stand. Pain shot through his legs as he looked up at the Captain, standing over him with a bloody sword. His blood. The man had cut the muscles at the back of his legs. Lain continued screaming, crying out his pain until the man clubbed him over the head, rendering him unconscious. The Whitecloaks happily tore off his colour-shifting cloak, shredding it in some small ceremony. They dumped the pieces of it on Mileni's body, spitting on it. Bearing their captive, they returned to the camp.

Lain woke up hanging from the ceiling. His wrists were bound together, hanging from a chain, his feet dangling in midair. He was stripped to the waist, his many wounds left open, some still bleeding faint trickles. He felt liquid running down the back of his leg, and knew the Whitecloaks had left it as well. He would have to be Healed soon, or his leg might be damaged forever. _If I don't die of blood loss first,_ he thought grimly. He turned slowly in the air, his legs numb with pain. He quickly blocked out any thought of Mileni. He must stay strong for this. He was a Gaidin; that they knew. He would be tortured before he was killed. Lain raised his bloodied head, fires blazing in his eyes as the first Whitecloak entered the room. He _would._ _Not_. _Break_. _For Mileni,_ he thought as he prepared himself.

xxxx

Not for the first time, Affi found herself longing for Mayene and the life she had led as a girl. But it wasn't there anymore. Her parents and her house - even some of her friends - were gone now, and she had no reason to return to the stony southern nation. Except now, she was prompted to think otherwise. _Surely anything is better than this?_ she wondered dully, her strides larger than usual as she followed the Whitecloak down the hallway.

She was sorely tempted to hand in her resignation and find work in an inn or tavern again, perhaps in Tar Valon this time, or maybe one of the outlying villages. _At least my wish for travel was fulfilled._ And that was certainly true, for she had worked in several countries since leaving her homeland.

But she received such better wages here, and whilst the young woman was not overly materialistic, she did require enough coin to pay for her journey to wherever the road took her next, moving from place to place every few months, and thoroughly enjoying meeting new people and seeing new sites, testing local delicacies and wearing local dress. _Just another month or so,_ she assured herself, _and I will have enough to last me all the way to Caemlyn!_ For a long time, she had wanted to see the city of the lion and the rose. While it couldn't possibly compare with Tar Valon for sheer beauty, she had heard that there was an air of incredible majesty in Andor's capital, and wanted to see it with her own eyes.

Realizing that she was falling behind, Affi hastily gathered up the hem of her simple blue dress in one hand and the pail full of water in the other, a white cloth hanging over her arm. Somehow, she suspected that the nature of her next task wouldn't be particularly pleasant, for the Child of the Light leading her wore an especially disgusted look on his face. More so than normal, which was certainly saying something.

At length, they reached a plain wooden door and the Whitecloak pushed it open, ushering her through sharply.

"Clean up that mess." he instructed, "I do not wish to carry out interrogations with blood all over the floor."

Slowly, Affi turned to face a man suspended from the ceiling, several open wounds interlaced across his body and a perfectly impassive look upon his face, as though he could not feel the pain they must cause him. When she moved closer, dipping the cloth in water, her dark eyes caught sight of a horrendous wound down the back of his leg. Affi quickly dropped her eyes and knelt down on the floor, gathering her skirts away from the pool of blood which she began to mop up without comment. She knew full well that any complaint or protestation on her part would only land her a beating later.

xxxx

Gale moved silently in the wooded area near the filthy Whitecloak's camp. He had seen the disgusting circumstances a few days before, The way they slaughtered the Aes Sedai, crippled her warder who was unable to fight back from the shock of her death. He spat upon the ground, a bad taste in his mouth. The fight had been far from fair. _Filthy Whitecloaks._ He was here, not able to leave this alone, wanting to save the Warder somehow, but not sure how the task was to be completed. He was absorbed in his thoughts when the patrol came to him. He was 20, and had not enough experience to realize they had snuck up on him before they whirled him around and struck him hard, plunging him into blackness.

He woke, his head pounding, a few hours later. Instantly, he studied his surroundings. He had found the warder and was strung and stripped the same way as he was, only considerably less injured. The blood the man should have spilled had been cleaned up. He knew he was to be questioned, surely, but he wanted first to see if escape was possible. He lifted his feet up and braced them against the bar to which he was tied. After studying the material to which he was bound, he dropped back down and sighed. He was hoping to avoid it, but he would have to channel his way out of his predicament, and would have to do this in good shape and out from under the eyes of the whitecloaks. If they found out, he would die as soon as they could manage it. He studied his fellow captive. He seemed kind of out of it. He was about to speak to him when the questioner came into the tent.

xxxx

"You are in deep trouble, young Lieutenant," Mikel spoke in a soft, dangerous voice. His eyes were black storm clouds at that moment, a mere foreshadowing of what was to come. He was fast beginning to lose his patience with this all-too typical brand of Children who were utterly unable to keep their zealous natures in check. "Did you even think to ask for the jurisdiction of the Lord Captain Commander before you proceeded in carrying out this crack-brained little plot of yours?" Mikel demanded in a voice that just barely held onto the ragged edge of calm. The Child shook his head shamefully and the dark-haired Inquisitor nodded coolly, adding a few more notes to the arrest warrant laid at his desk. To be immediately put to the question as a suspected Darkfriend; if and when a confession is drawn out of him, execution shall be the only suitable solution. "I regret to inform you that I must henceforth hold you securely in a cell beneath the jurisdiction of the Hand of the Light. What you have done does not merely border on treason but completely shreds apart all acceptable bounds. You are not and never were worthy of the cloak you wear." The man appeared... suitably broken by his words. Mikel raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, tilting his head to observe the rank fear in the man's eyes. It was fascinated that simple words were often enough to destroy the spirit of a person more fully even than the cruelest claws and hooks could ever achieve. _I do not believe this one will require a great deal of convincing before he "confesses" to his allegiances with the Shadow. _"You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

Astoundingly, the young Child managed a deep, formal bow before ruining it by all but stumbling out of the door. The man would be hung within the week and no doubt the poor wretch was well aware of this fact... truly a shame to waste even the lowest of soldiers but Mikel simply could not tolerate fools. Lieutenant Paedrig truly was nothing more than a common, blind fool... not a Darkfriend as one or two of the over-passionate members of his order would no doubt be suggesting in the coming days. The Hand of the Light would of course not even consider doubting the fact that Paedrig bathed in the shadow and they would see his subsequent torture as nothing more than an unfortunate need to exact a confession from him. _I must use fools as and when it is necessary unfortunately... I must use my fellow Lord Inquisitor's. _They would see that Paedrig was suitably disposed of and it would serve as a warning to other Lieutenants and indeed, to other Lord Captain's who might think to rise above themselves.

"My Lord Inquisitor, you are called to the prisoner's tents," announced a deep, self-assured voice with a respectful bob of his head. Hundredman Daved was a more than competent troop, obedient to the very letter of ever order issued to him, capable of dealing out torture where it was necessary and witnessing atrocities where they could not be avoided. Granted, not made for the higher ranks but in this world those who followed were every bit as valuable and needed as those who led. "The Lord Captain Commander sent very firm messages that you should be allowed complete authority over what will pass in those tent's. He seemed... uncomfortable with the thought that your counterpart in the Hand might oversee the Questioning." Mikel nodded thoughtfully and allowed a brief mark of respect towards the man who headed the Children of the Light. The current Lord Captain Commander was an able leader, as comfortable with manipulating rulers and playing the Great Game as he was with commanding vast legions. _And not fervent enough in his belief of the supposed "noble calling" of the Children of the Light to be wholly blind to reality. _The Captain Commander must have been truly concerned for messages to reach their camp so quickly.

"Very good, Hundredman," Mikel responded in a voice that genuinely radiated pleasure. Daved truly had earned any praise he received. "You have a wife and a young child, yes...?" the Inquisitor questioned almost absently, studying several stray reports left carelessly on his desk. The Child looked up suspiciously for a second before nodding shortly; Mikel smiled. "It is high time you took a little leave, yes Hundredman Daved? A month. A long time, I know, but do not think this means I am softening. I expect you to train with the sword every day and to study the techniques of persuasion that I discussed with you, understand?" The beam on the man's face came a hair too close to touching Mikel's heart but he quickly hardened his exterior. "Tell your wife and son that you are a hero and they should be fiercely proud of you, Daved." The man had twice rescued Mikel from battles that would have otherwise claimed his life... the Inquisitor was undeniably grateful. "You are dismissed and I look forward to your healthy and happy return."

The Hundredman nodded and bowed far more smoothly than Lieutenant Paedrig had managed before leaving his tent to make preparations for his leave of absence. Mikel rose slowly from his hard, wooden chair and conscientiously began to ready himself for the ugly business that lay ahead. _I should have wrung Paedrig's neck there and then for the pile of dung he has left me to clean up, the Light curse him! _Picking out a fresh pristine white coat, Mikel wrapped it carefully around himself, briefly fingering the blood-red hook that marked his separateness from the core legions of Children. The Amadician allowed himself only a small smile at the knots that marked his rank as only a step below the High Inquisitor; he had surely earned the position but that just as surely did not make Mikel infallible.

Walking from his rooms, he marched stiffly towards the tent he knew would hold a dirty, desolate man who would probably want nothing more than to rip the heart out of every last Whitecloak. Mikel paused occasionally in his march to admire the stark order of the Children, camps arranged in a compelling equilibrium to each other, each spaced apart ever so precisely and guards patrolling in the proper order at the proper time. Light was beginning to fade now, the last rays of sun illuminating those white cloaks, instilling them with a mystical silvery quality. One by one, lamps sprung up around the camp, servants making sure that few shadows were allowed to linger. Anything could lurk in shadows. Mikel entered the tent with a twist of his lips that might have been a smile or might have been a sneer filled with the contempt that he felt deep down inside. He truly did not know.

"I truly regret what has happened... allow me to assure that that none of what came to pass was permitted by the Lord Captain Commander and I certainly..." Mikel trailed off at the sight that suddenly met his eyes. Two men were strung up by their feet, hanging from the roof of the tent and both looking in an ugly shape. A servant knelt to one side, scrubbing furiously at a puddle of quickly drying blood, but Mikel barely allowed himself to notice the existence of the young girl. This was simply unacceptable. "Child!" he barked to the nearest guard standing just three or four feet from his position as if nothing untoward was happening. "I want the Warder released from the restraints around his legs immediately! Bring him a shirt and a towel to clean himself... a good herb doctor too... on the double!" Mikel roared when the man was not forthcoming with obedience. The Inquisitor turned regretfully back towards the Warder, ignoring the other prisoner altogether. _I was not given command over his questioning... until I hear orders to the contrary, I stick to what I am permitted to do._ "I am truly, deeply sorry for this," he repeated, shaking his head disgustedly. "This is not at all how I conduct a Questioning and by all rights, you should not even be here. As I was explaining, what came to pass with you and your... Aes Sedai... was not sanctioned by any of the higher officers of the Children. We certainly respect your boundaries and would not consider breaking the laws of Tar Valon. I hope you can accept this heartfelt apology." He smiled slickly and affected a slight bow, his eyes holding firmly on the Warder's. "I will see that hot tea is brought for both of us and we can discuss business as two grown men, yes...?"

xxxx

Gale hung there, watching the high inquisitor, his slight frame hanging limply. His head ached from the blow he had received, a large bruise on the side of his boyish face that looked sixteen, especially with his big grey eyes. This fact got him out of trouble often, especially when there were women involved. He couldn't stand being treated like a puppy. One of the reasons for being in the Tower. No woman liked an Ashaman, no matter how "cute". He grimaced at this thought. He hated being called cute.

He squirmed in his bonds and felt blood slide down his arms. _How stupid can you get,_ he thought, _getting caught sneaking around a Whitecloak camp. I don't know what I was thinking, sticking around. No tea and apologies for me! This time I will really lose my head._ He was afraid to channel though, around the Whitecloaks. It was to be his last resort, and he also wanted to bring the Warder with him, in case he could not escape on his own after his extensive wounds.

He looked down. The blood had spread down his arms to his chest now, and his wrists stung from the rope's constant pressure "Bloody Whitecloaks," he mumbled, though he thought that might have been a big mistake. Sound carries far in silence.

xxxx

Lain held his dignity quietly, his body an empty shell. He barely noticed when a woman came in to clean up the blood- _my blood,_ a quiet voice in the back of his head reminded him- and merely blinked when another man was carried in. The man was hung by his ankles as well, a purple bruise forming by his eye. He appeared younger than Lain by quite a bit; yet seemed to hang on to a determined gleam in his eyes that few earned young. He wore a black coat as well- and Lain's mind clicked. _An Asha'man._ Lain just blinked again- he was almost beyond caring. A stray thought drifted through- _why would a man who could channel be here?_- but then was blown away. Mileni was gone... No. He mustn't think of that. He had to stay strong... The last he had barely thought when in strode every Warder's worst nightmare. The man wore a white cloak, a red shepard's crook obvious. An Inquisitor. Involuntarily, a small shiver ran through Lain's prone body, the only outward display of emotion he showed.

"I truly regret what has happened... allow me to assure that that none of what came to pass was permitted by the Lord Captain Commander and I certainly..." Lain's mind scoffed in disbelief, barely noticing when he roared for Lain to be put on the ground, calling for... a herb doctor? He had never heard of those. _Probably the Whitecloaks excuse for a good Healer. _But why was one being called? For him? Surely not. Yet the Whitecloaks he could see had no need for one... Besides, he doubted anything short of a Healer could restore him now. _This is probably a tactic,_ he thought dully. _Torture._ He struggled to get his mind moving, make his thoughts move faster than molasses. He barely even registered what the Questioner was saying- something about tea? He stopped himself from sneering with an effort.

He was still limp with surprise when a man cut down his legs, setting him roughly on the ground. He bit his lip as the cut muscles in the back of his leg burned with white-hot pain, his vision blacking out for a moment. When he could see again, a bent-over white-haired man had entered the bloodstained tent, nervous-looking and carrying a small basket. He immediately scurried over to Lain as the Questioner looked on, kneeling by him and opening his case. He took out various dried plants, mixing them in a small bowl to a paste while a shirt and towel was brought, handed over by a Whitecloak with murder in his eyes. He took the towel first, mopping the blood from his scabbing wounds, then wiping his leg gently. Clumsily, he pulled the cloth over his head, carefully lifting it over the many cuts and slits covering his torso. Small bits of blood soaked it immediately through, and he almost laughed. Almost. As he sat there, he gasped as the little man touched his leg, then sighed with relief as the pain immediately receded. Of course- a pain-killing drug. He relaxed slightly, deciding against standing up as yet another Whitecloak bore in two steaming mugs.

Lain stared up at the Questioner with raw hatred and defiance filling his eyes. Let the lies and pain come. He was ready. _For Mileni._

xxxx

Mikel made a careful point of ignoring the muttered words of the young man still strung up by his feet. He calmly sipped at his tea, bitter and unsweetened as his preference dictated before staring almost placidly into those icy eyes, far sharper and more biting than any tea the Inquisitor had ever tasted_. If I gave him a sword and allowed him a few more minutes of rest no doubt he would not hesitation in separating my head from my shoulders. _But Mikel would not allow himself to be caught up in any such duels, and certainly not the so-called "honorable" kind. No matter how much this Gaidin disrespected him or offended his beliefs, Mikel would be the man in control of the situation so long as this wretch remained disorientated and without a weapon.

"Now then..." the Lord Inquisitor spoke up in a jovial voice, smacking his lips in satisfaction at the aromas floating from his cup. "Allow me to introduce myself as Mikel Darys of Amadicia," he spoke pleasantly as if talking casually over a mug of ale in the warm atmosphere of a tavern. "As you are no doubt well aware, I am a high-ranking member of the Hand that seeks out Truth; but as a word of warning, do not allow this knowledge to give you any preconceptions about the type of man I am. If you are cooperative, I will not harm you to any degree and I make no immediate assumptions about your allegiances. I am not one of those Children who believe all... Aes Sedai... and their Warders must necessarily be Darkfriends... too much power can corrupt a person but this does not always equate to serving the Shadow." To some members of his order, this would have at least amounted to blasphemy, if not treason but Mikel was in a secure enough position to state his beliefs without fear of retribution.

"I take a more literal interpretation of what the meaning of my order is than most," Mikel went on to explain, taking another swallow of tea until nothing but the dregs remained. He placed it carefully aside and looked carefully into those eyes... it seemed that this man was not yet fully corrupted by his experiences in the White Tower... there was only pained loss and twisted rage in those hollow green pools. _Perhaps I can convince him to join the Children's cause...? A soldier of this calibre could be passing useful. _Mikel stacked the idea studiously in a corner of his mind, keeping it safe for later use. "My belief is that I should genuinely seek out the actual truth. I am not fool enough to assume that a person is a Darkfriend without proper evidence... I wish to find real Shadowsworn... it is my purpose for living... you might even name it... my calling." He smiled ever so slightly, his dark eyes glowing with a rare passion. "I am well aware that most of my associates in the Hand of the Light are willing to name anyone Darkfriend and will believe it just the same. I will not make that mistake."

"Now let us move straight onto relevant business," he spoke in a still pleasant tone but with just a hint of sharpness, indicating a very real desire to discover what this man did and did not know. "Since I have provided you with my true name, I would greatly appreciate knowing yours, as well as a brief description of why you happened upon our patrol. I am clearly aware of what came to pass here... as I told you, I regret what happened and have already seen the man in charge severely punished... but it will be useful for our investigations if I could hear things from another perspective. I can make assurances that with cooperation, I will make every effort to see that you are held in an environment of minimal security, perhaps conducting labor in a farm or some other form of manual work. A man of your abilities should not find it difficult to, let us say... release himself from such a situation were he to find it less than suitable in advancing his purposes, yes?" If nothing else Mikel had said amounted to treason, this surely did... but if the Warder was a man of practicalities, perhaps it would be enough to loosen his tongue just a little.

xxxx

Gale could not believe the words coming out of the Whitecloak's mouth. Did he think the Warder stupid enough to fall for something like that? It was most likely a way to loosen the man's tongue and have him killed and disposed of silently. He knew that he was caught sneaking around a camp, and so he would most likely be condemned as shadowspawn by the Whitecloaks, he wasn't of course, but by sunrise, would probably find his head uncomfortably far from his head. He would just have to make due of the time he had left by thoroughly making the Whitecloaks suffer, maybe escaping before they realized he was an Asha'man.

He started to laugh now, not caring if they thought him insane. "Fool," he hissed, "The man is smarter than to fall for your pathetic schemes, Whitecloak. You will have him work, will you? So he can be silently killed and disposed of? You are a worm, crawling your way through life, only working toward your own ends." He spat upon the ground. And laughed again, seeing blood in the spit. Caked upon his skin was blood from his wrists, and his head was certainly bruised, but if he was bleeding internally, if he was not treated for that, he would die soon. Being Morderoi Vadin, he knew this, he had healed this before.

xxxx

Lain stared at the Questioner blankly, barely managing to conceal the enhanced hatred he now felt. A labourer on a farm? Was the Whitecloak mad? If one of his own kind had heard that, he would be tried and convicted of a Darkfriend within seconds. Yet it made no reason to strike out now- angry words would only condemn him further, and stating his name had nothing to do with anything. It didn't matter, anyway. One Warder was the same as another to them; he even suspected they would treat a Gaidar the same.

Before he had a chance to speak, the man who had hung beside him spoke angrily, spitting out words. "Fool," he hissed, "The man is smarter than to fall for your pathetic schemes, Whitecloak. You will have him work, will you? So he can be silently killed and disposed of? You are a worm, crawling your way through life, only working toward your own ends." With the last word, he spat at the Questioner, and began laughing.

_He truly is insane,_ Lain thought bitterly. Did he want to die? Lain could defend himself! He was not an infant in need of assistance! Lain straightened as best he could, ignoring the pains from his wounds through the pain-killers and the herb-doctor tutting over them. He licked his cracked lips, clearing his throat carefully. He turned to the Whitecloak, studiously ignoring the other captive.

"I," he began clearly, "am Lain Farshaw, Gaidin..." he paused, defiantly clearing his throat once more. "Gaidin to the late Mileni Aes Sedai," he stated proudly, looking the man in the eye. Let him think what he would.

"The patrol was an unfortunate incident, indeed," he spoke, determinedly pushing forwards as though he was talking to an old enemy before a fight. "I believe you may know more of it than I," he said carefully, watching the man's hard eyes, "but I think it may have been a unfortunate mishap on both sides." Lain let the last part of what the Whitecloak had said go for now- any response to that could be taken the wrong way.

He fell silent, watching the Questioner and the other captive, out of the corner of his eyes. _But the Light help me,_ he thought viciously_, if he disrespects my Mileni!_


	2. Thorns

The Inquisitor waited patiently for the Warder to finish speaking before looking curiously up at the other prisoner, a stonily expressionless look concealing whatever Mikel's thoughts and feelings were with regard to this obvious show of defiance. He raised a single muscular fist as a gesture to the nearby Children waiting within the tent; they did not need long to interpret his signal. They raised their own gauntleted knuckles before settling to with a vengeance that the hapless prisoner had no more than a split second to react to. It was a crude, gritty method of torture that an experienced initiate of the Hand would never have applied to wheedle out important answers... but this was at least sufficient to keep the man quiet long enough for the Amadician to focus on what truly mattered. Slowly the Inquisitor turned back to the Gaidin with an oily smile on his face as if an atrocious amount of physical violence were not being applied right before his eyes.

"I know very little of what occurred in the ambush, Lain," Mikel reminded him pointedly, addressing him by name in a way that suggested they were already close acquaintances. "Remember that I had nothing to do with this attack beyond happening upon the aftermath of the incident. I would not have commanded such an assault, if only because of the great dangers of sparking up a war between Amadicia and the White Tower." Mikel stopped there, careful not to say things that even the greenest recruit could not bring himself to tolerate from the mouth of a fellow Child. The only reason we have avoided war is because of the need to show respect and deference to the boundaries of the Aes Sedai. Every Lord Captain Commander with half his wits intact knows who would come off the better in a battle between our two organizations. The use of the One Power as a weapon was corrupted and base at best but no amount of legions could hope to stand against such a mighty force.

"As things stand, letters must be forwarded to your leaders... your Amyrlin and her Hall..." Mikel muttered, rubbing his hands together in an unconscious signal of deep, troubled thoughts. "Many are uncomfortable with the idea, as if such messages might imply we are willing to treat with your White Tower. Truth to tell, I do not much like it myself but I at least am able to understand the political minutiae of such a situation." The rhythmic thump, thwunk of the Children's gauntlets meeting with naked flesh cut through to Mikel's ears again for a brief moment before he ruthlessly forced the sounds out of his mind. _The prisoner must learn his place, and he will not if I show even a hint of weakness._ "I will not be a party to causing or beginning any manner of war you can imagine... unless it is necessary, of course." That smile twisted to a wry smirk, the look of a man who knew the realities of war meeting eyes with one who also clearly did. "I am sure you can well sympathize with me, yes?" With a calm click of his fingers, the pair of Children withdrew from the second prisoner, halting their relentless beating. The wretch was covered in ugly, black bruises from head to toe and blood flowed in thick rivulets where certain heavy blows had torn open flesh.

"Now since you have cooperated with me to the best of your ability and have shown me no great disrespect, it is quite possible that I will be able to push for your release," Mikel explained to the Gaidin in a business-like tone of voice. "With the underlying political influences brought into consideration, it is highly doubtful that my Lord Captain Commander would wish to risk inciting further trouble. Once you have seen the treasonous Lieutenant brought to justice and hung you can return to the White Tower and explain that the man who killed one of their kind was not working under the authority of the Children. I admit that I would be indescribably grateful if you would do this service for me... not that I expect it of you after the suffering one of my own has caused you but nonetheless, I sincerely hope that you can repay my kindly deed with one of your own." Mikel turned smoothly towards the exit of the tent, intending to issue orders for the Warder's release; he was never given the opportunity.

"My Lord Inquisitor," came the familiar voice of Hundredman Daved. "Before I leave, I must report that a pigeon just arrived for you. Sealed by the Lord Captain Commander's hand... it must be of utmost importance." Mikel nodded calmly, taking this new development coolly in his stride. _So the supreme master of the Children sent another message soon after the one I just received... which means he had a change of heart about a certain command... or that he wishes to add something else._ Daved strode forward confidently, not at all sickened by the sight of bloody, battered men but nor did he take any pleasure in the sight as some of the more sadistic members of the Hand were at liberty to do on occasion. The Hundredman placed the sealed letter in Mikel's hands before placing a hand to his heart in formal salute.

"Thank you, Daved," he responded, already waving his hand to indicate that the man was free to go. "Now leave before I decide I might need you, after all... enjoy your leave, Hundredman." Daved saluted a last time before marching stolidly out of the tent. Mikel did not waste a moment before cracking open the note and scanning hastily over the content. So...

_Lord Inquisitor Mikel,_

_My first instinct was to command the immediate release of this Tower nit to prevent a conflict that we surely could not hope to win. However, when the damage is done, damage limitation must be applied and there is an advantage to possessing this Gaidin that we have never had before. He is already a broken man, the witch who leashed him dead. All know of the tricks they use to certify obedience... the pain and loss of a desire to live that the so-called Warders suffer when their mistresses die. A broken man is more likely to speak of things that the hardened hounds of the White Tower would not so much as loosen their tongues for._

_It is my desire that you find everything you can of use from this man, specifically his knowledge of the Shadow and his own experience of dealings with the witches and other Darkfriends. It would also be useful to acquire information about the infrastructure of the White Tower, as well as any possible weaknesses that we can exploit, even by stealth. I intend to finally be the Lord Captain Commander who saves the world from the corrupting influence of the Tower._

Walk in the Light.

There was no signature but none was needed for Mikel to recognize the devious workings of the mind of the Captain Commander who was willing to expend any amount of resources if it meant extinguishing the depraved existence of the Shadow and the Aes Sedai from the world. _And he is willing to sacrifice you as well, Mikel... remember that you are as much an expendable resource as anybody._

"I regret to inform you that there has been an unexpected change of plans, Warder," the Inquisitor spoke up coldly, already distancing himself emotionally from the subject. He turned to the Children and the herb doctor. "You will cease treating this patient now and find some other worthy task," he told the man who had been administering painkilling substances and stitching up the more serious wounds. "You two Children will secure this man as he was before my arrival... and then you must fetch my tools." The pair complied with barely a hesitation, tying the rope with painstaking attention to detail until the Gaidin was hanging by his feet once more. They left just as quickly... both knew full well what tools must mean to an Inquisitor.

"I fear that my orders are quite clear, prisoner," Mikel announced, turning back to his subject. "You must tell me everything you can of use to the cause of the Children and if you will not tell me, I must see to the loosening of your tongue. If you have not yet realized the situation, then I will inform you that our meeting has advanced to the point where Questioning is necessary. I prefer to structure my interrogations in a very tidy manner and unlike some I do not believe the element of surprise gives me the advantage. Just so, I will tell you what you can expect at the various stages of my Questioning you." The Children re-entered, one bearing a folded desk and the other a large wooden box that clunked with the noise of several metallic objects held within. "Firstly, I will simply ask the truth of you and if you answer to my satisfaction I will not harm you in any way. Second will include the use of my hands to... encourage you... since the moment I joined the Hand of the Light, I learned of many ways of using my hands to glean the truth from a person. Third will mean the use of the many pleasant objects you see being laid out on that table," Mikel gestured as the Children placed the last few hooks and knives on the desk. "It is truly amazing that so much agony can be caused by these tools without even bringing a subject to the brink of death. A very rare few are able to keep silent through this stage... but none I have ever encountered refused questions once at the fourth stage of my Questioning. Anything is allowable at this point... I might skin you alive but that would be... predictable, yes? Perhaps for a man of your admirable caliber, I can amputate those parts of your body that will not be needed for answering questions... or maybe I will fetch the hot coals. Needless to say you will be begging for your own death once I have completed much more than a minute of the final stage." There was no feeling in Mikel's voice now... only the cold, stark truth.

"And there are far greater violations that can be committed against a man," Mikel whispered, lowering his voice to a level that only Lain would be able to hear. "I know of at least three or four Children in this camp alone who would be unconditionally grateful were I to give them the legitimate use of your body for a few hours. One would take you while the others watched... perhaps by the time they have all taken a turn with you the first will be ready for another taste. They do not at all object at being told to be as rough as possible with the prisoners... tenderness is the last thing on any of their minds." It was no idle thread... men with such preferences were barely tolerated within the ranks of the Children... but out of those few who were, there were always some willing to take advantage. "I sincerely hope that you do not make such a thing necessary, Lain... it is never pleasant to watch, let me assure you.

"Now," Mikel spoke in a suddenly friendly tone, clapping his hands to push such thoughts aside. "Since that ugly business is out of the way, I am sure none of what I mentioned will become necessary, will it Gaidin?" Mikel asked dismissively, as if he were already certain of the answer. "Firstly, I am commanded to enquire as to your knowledge of the Shadow and what dealings you may have had with Darkfriends in the past. Will you answer me with the absolute truth, or must I immediately advance to the second stage?"

xxxx

Lain listened impassively as the Whitecloak spoke to him, trying to convince him he would be set free. Free if only he would go to the Amyrlin and explain that the Whitecloaks hadn't killed... an Aes Sedai... on purpose. He almost laughed aloud; almost spat at the man's feet. Almost. He thought better at the last moment; he didn't want to come out of this worse than he would already. If he came out at all. As the man finished, he turned, beginning to stride towards the entrance of the tent. Before he had reached the opening, another man appeared, carrying a small scroll.

"My Lord Inquisitor, before I leave, I must report that a pigeon just arrived for you. Sealed by the Lord Captain Commander's hand... it must be of utmost importance," spoke the man. The Questioner coolly nodded, taking the letter and reading it the moment the other left the tent. Lain watched with mild interest as the Whitecloak's face changed, something in the letter altering his emotions. The man became more distant, his mind focusing less on Lain, the man. _This could be bad,_ he commented silently.

"I regret to inform you that there has been an unexpected change of plans, Warder," the Questioner told him, his voice the ice of a midwinter's morning. As the Whitecloak shooed away the herb doctor, calling for Lain to be hung up, and to fetch his tools, Lain shuddered convulsively in anticipation. 'Tools'. _Definitely bad._ He gritted his teeth as he was strung up, sneaking a glance at the other prisoner. He winced in sympathy- black bruises covered the man's body, blood oozing from fresh wounds, then hissed as the Whitecloaks brushed his leg, none to gently. Perhaps on purpose. He shrugged unconsciously- what difference did it make?

As the Questioner began speaking again, two other Whitecloaks bringing in a clumsy wooden box- _Tools,_ his inner voice winced- Lain tried not to listen. Anticipation always made the fear worse, made it easier to break a man. But he couldn't help it- the man spoke so impassively, showing no eagerness for causing him pain. He described it lightly, with not much detail, leaving Lain to guess at what might be in store for him. _The man is a master,_ he admitted grudgingly.

"And there are far greater violations that can be committed against a man," the Questioner whispered, then continued on. Lain could not help it- his eyes bulged, mouth dropping- or rising- slightly open. He stared at the Whitecloak, upside-down, uncomprehending. _Did he mean?... No, he couldn't. Could he?_ His fears were affirmed as the man spoke on, Lain forcing his mouth shut purely through willpower. His thoughts on this were left behind as the Questioning began.

"Firstly, I am commanded to enquire as to your knowledge of the Shadow and what dealings you may have had with Darkfriends in the past. Will you answer me with the absolute truth or must I immediately advance to the second stage?" Lain stared at him some more, his eyes withdrawing and hardening.

"The truth?" he said softly, his voice distant. "Always, the truth." He looked up, his eyes focusing squarely on the enemy, mind imaging a million tortures worse than anything the creature before him could conceive.

His voice changed to a jovial one, sickeningly cheerful. "Why, the Shadow is the Dark One," he whispered in mock fear. "And Darkfriends are most awful people."

His eyes grew wide in exaggerated innocence. "I haven't had any dealings with the Shadow," he said, sounding surprised. "Why, it pains my light-loving soul you would think such a thing!" Lain tensed as he waited for the inevitable first blow.

xxxx

Mikel watched the man's face carefully, analyzing exactly how much truth had been in his words. All the Inquisitor could see was outright defiance in the Warder's eyes, as well as a hint of contemptuous mockery. But perhaps the man truly had not been a part of any dealings with the Shadow... truth could too easily be clothed in defiance as a means of putting one's enemies off the scent. Lain was more than sly enough to think up such a ruse and Mikel had seen too much in his life to take anything for granted now. His dark eyes stared daggers at the Gaidin, furious that the fool man insisted on making things so difficult. _You could have avoided all this ugliness with but a slight loosening of your tongue... even now, I might still have secured your release._

"I see..." Mikel murmured, his head tilted again with a typically vague look of contemplation adding fine creases to his usually smooth forehead. "You have made your position quite clear to me, Lain... I do not give second chances," the Hand assured him with a distinctly matter-of-fact quality to his voice. "I swear under the Light and by my hope of salvation that you will live to regret disrespecting me." The pitch-black silken gloves that Mikel dug out of his cloak pocket did not fit with the rest of his pristine white uniform. There was something of a morbid look to those gloves... a brewing storm, dark and foreboding. It was the only item of clothing the Amadician owned that was not as clear as daylight; such a colour was black enough as to easily absorb and conceal the rank, corrupt taint of spilt blood.

Mikel walked icily to the freshly unfolded desk, picking out a pouch, sealed and tied meticulously as if the item held within were particularly valuable. With an almost reverent delicacy, the Inquisitor picked open the thread and pulled out the contents. A dusk-green collection of furry- skinned vines and thorny leaves had been massed together within the pouch, ready for immediate use. Itchweed. Mikel always made certain that a Child picked him out a new batch at least once every day... itchweed lost something of its potency after it was picked and the longer it was left, the less effective it became. The weed in question was only a few hours old in this case however, which meant that it still retained every bit of its usual effectiveness. Without any further delay, Mikel set to with just as much attention to detail as the herb doctor had shown... to the Inquisitor, it was as much a form of art as any of the greatest poetry.

He applied the itchweed to various points on the man's body, carefully removing the shirt that had been passed to the Gaidin only moments ago. The most important points to focus on were already vulnerable areas of flesh, such as deep wounds, and other cuts or bruises. Any experienced initiate of the Hand of the Light learned such things as a basic requirement of raising, but few managed to apply it with the correct level of exquisiteness that made it truly deadly. Mikel could. The thorny leaves were a personal addition of his; for the subjects, it always made the experience far more... memorable. The thorns also caught on soft flesh, attaching the itchy vines all the more securely. And now to begin. Before long, a shallow cut just below the man's upper chest had been given the treatment, while various bruises and torn flesh along his muscular arms were also "bandaged" in the same unique way. Mikel saved the largest thorns and the crispest weeds for Lain's twisted, mutilated leg; the Inquisitor applied itchweed to those torn and broken tendons with a strangely gentle look in his eyes. Tenderness was always an effective means of putting his patient's off balance.

"There is an ointment that can quickly relieve you of your ailment, Lain..." Mikel whispered soothingly into the Gaidin's ear. "...and more painkillers can be brought if they are required. However, if the right herbs are not brought soon enough, you will begin to itch furiously... there is only one possible reaction in such a dire situation." Scratching was inevitable and only natural in the situation but prisoners always discovered to their horror that this only exacerbated the situation. Yet exacerbate or not, they were unable to halt in their frenzied itching; not even when healing wounds were torn open anew and previously unblemished skin was marred by deep gouges from the wild slicing of fingers far beyond the control of their owners. "Now I give you a choice... you may vainly try to help yourself by conventional means. I have kindly left your arms free, you may have noticed... although I would not advise this method; it can only ever end in hideous, unsightly results. Your second option is to agree to answer my questions and I will of course call for the return of the herb doctor immediately." Mikel paused a moment to analyze what effect his words had had on the man, yet it was impossible to read anything from his stony face. _Perhaps he will talk..._ the Inquisitor mused_. Perhaps if he has half the wits of a blind mule._ "I ask you again... what is your knowledge of the Shadow and what past dealings with Darkfriends can you tell me of?"

xxxx

Gale saw the fist come up and the two men approach him. He cursed at himself for being so stupid as to open his mouth in such an insulting manner. He grunted as the first fist hit him, the gauntlet cutting into his skin. A few more strikes and he felt a few of his ribs break. He was being shown no mercy and he felt himself loosing consciousness. He tried hard to keep awake and the pain helped him achieve this end.

He thought it would go on forever and then it stopped. He was unable to keep from gasping as they left, which caused him to wince. His ribs were fire and he was bleeding from a dozen deep gashes, some on his face and one uncomfortably close to his eye. He looked down at his torso, and saw it was shining wetly with his blood, and dark with bruises. _No,_ he told himself. _Control the pain._ He saw the warder being strung up again and he realized that he had missed something. The warder was staring venomously at the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor was pulling on black gloves and took out a pouch. The plants that he took out he attached to the Warder, with thorns if he wasn't mistaken. He explained about the plant to the man and Gale could not help but wince. Itchweed. Very potent when fresh and aggravated further by scratching. He pitied the man. Then he went inside himself, calming himself. He was exhausted and growing weak from loss of blood, which covered the floor under him. He receded inside his mind.

Inside himself he numbed the pain, taking deep breathes that sent lances of pain through his body. He had learned this trick when he was at the Tower, separating his mind from his broken body, putting himself in sort of a trance. He sought the void but did not seize the source. He fed the pain and anger into the flame he envisioned, calming himself. He would not be rash again, he promised, knowing that that was close to being impossible. He had promised this to himself before and it had never worked. He was too emotional, he knew and didn't think before he acted, something mastered by those who had been on this earth longer than 20 years.

His trance led to unconsciousness. He was losing blood fast and his internal bleeding had quickened. His head slumped forward onto his chest and the pain was not enough to keep him from slipping into the world between awake and sleep. He floated, in and out, sometimes seeing, sometimes not and he was always brought out of any sleep he slipped into by nightmares of demons and fire, a hell his mind created, a prison. He thrashed screaming and always came out within a few minutes of the dream, though those minutes seemed lifetimes to him.

xxxx

"I swear under the Light and by my hope of salvation that you will live to regret disrespecting me." Lain shivered involuntarily. Live. The Questioner pulled a pair of black gloves from his pocket, pulling them on like a butcher going to work_. I wonder how they keep their white uniforms from getting covered with our blood, _he wondered idly. He followed the man with his eyes, face tense as he reached towards a small tied bag. What could be inside? His question was answered quickly as the man- _Not man,_ he thought angrily. _Thing._- pulled out a bundle of thorns and vines, handling them carefully. He considered them thoughtfully, wondering what they would be for. What, would the monster stab him with thorns until he spoke? He chuckled without mirth then, a dry laugh, cut short by the Thing moving towards him.

He quickly and mercilessly 'attacked' Lain's body within an instant, applying the thorns and plant to his open and dripping wounds. Lain closed his eyes against the pain, preventing himself from watching. The sharp thorns twisted into his skin, digging their points into his body, driving the vines into his vulnerable flesh. A faint burning began where they touched skin, a vaguely familiar sensation he couldn't quite put his finger on. The Thing had moved behind him as Lain was absorbed in his thoughts, and Lain sucked in air sharply as large thorns were driven deep into the torn muscles of his leg. As more of the crackling vines were placed within his wounds, the first areas attended to began to itch. Lain's fingers twitched to scratch, and he held them tightly at his head, locked together. He caught a strange, gently tender look in the Monster's eyes as he moved before him again, out of place in that cold face. _Freak of nature,_ Lain thought uncomfortably, his wounds beginning to burn.

"There is an ointment that can quickly relieve you of your ailment, Lain," The Monster whispered soothingly into the Lain's ear. "and more painkillers can be brought if they are required. However, if the right herbs are not brought soon enough, you will begin to itch furiously... there is only one possible reaction in such a dire situation." Lain clenched his fists again, fighting against the already fiercely itching wounds. If he scratched, it would be worse. _Come on,_ he told himself. _Are you going to let some itchy thorns break you?_ He clenched his jaw in turn, holding his hands firmly. He but flicked his eyes when the man hanging by him woke suddenly, thrashing and screaming. _Poor man_, he thought suddenly. _What did he do to deserve this? _The man fell asleep as quickly as he had awoken, his eyes falling shut. Lain shook his head, focusing on the words the Thing was saying. Anything to focus on.

The Monster gave him a 'choice'; talk, or the itching. _Fine choice,_ he thought wryly. "I ask you again... what is your knowledge of the Shadow and what past dealings with Darkfriends can you tell me of?" said the Monster. Lain smiled at him, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dealings with Darkfriends..." he mused. "You know, I can't say I know of any Darkfriends... personally, anyway," he added. "But you might want to punish that herb doctor," he told the Questioner, his face solemn. "His healing herbs seem to be having this itchy side affect..." he tilted his head sideways, face straight.

xxxx

Gale finally came out of his stupor, son weak he could barely move. His ribs hurt unbearably now and his breathing rasped and brought blood to his lips_. I'm dying, aren't I,_ he thought glumly. _I will die, drowning in my own blood. Time is running out._ Sweat caked him in a slick sheen, stinging the numerous cuts though he shivered uncontrollably, he began to float again, drifting in and out of delirium, where he babbled incoherently and constantly. Too tired he feebly twitched instead of the violent thrashing he had experienced earlier.

He opened his eyes enough to see it was dark and knew it was in the wee hours of the morning. His wounds had stopped bleeding and the blood was covering his skin almost completely. He coughed weakly and felt blood fill his mouth. He groaned as each cough racked his small frame and he was spitting the blood out frequently. _Drowning inside myself, _he thought. He knew he would do no good to anyone now, his rescue attempt gone completely opposite. And then the man came into the tent, a whitecloak followed by three companions.

He came to Gale and sneered at him, whispering to his companions, "This one won't live much longer the way he's looking, let's have some fun with him. The Lord Inquisitor has no use for broken toys." He took his dagger out and cut Gale down. Gale fell in a heap, crying out as he hit the hard ground. A gauntleted hand covered his mouth and a filthy rag was shoved into his mouth "The Lord Inquisitor better not hear, " the Whitecloak whispered, "He's protective of his toys." the others laughed softly. A booted foot slammed into his side and he felt his ribs shatter more than they already were broken. His scream was muffled by the material and his eyes watered furiously, the booted feet raining down on him.

He looked up when it stopped, and the Whitecloaks face was close, and he could smell the alcohol on his breath. _Drunk,_ he thought, _That's worse than sober. They're idiots when their drunk and I don't need this. Let them kill me, please..._ He was praying now for a quick death and saw the dagger shining in the Whitecloak's hand. One of this companions let out a loud guffaw and the whitecloak hissed at him and slew him before turning back to Gale. He felt the dagger stab once into his hand, and once into the other, realizing they had pinned his hands to the earth with their knives. Another went to his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut waiting for death.

xxxx

"If you kill him, you will share his fate," Mikel told them calmly, eyeing each Child with a separate look that pierced the mind of each and every drunken figure standing before him. "I do not ever enjoy wasting valuable resources but when a tool is defective, it is far more wasteful to attempt to use or repair it... some things are simply beyond repair." The Children backed away slowly, raising their hands in gestures of appeasement. "As a Hand of the Light, it is my duty to acquire information from prisoners... if you kill this man or maim him beyond the point of talking then I would be most displeased." The group was already scuttling away, ready to jump into a pit of vipers before remaining another moment in this tent with an Inquisitor.

"Did I give you leave to go, children?" he barked, meaning the last word by its true definition. These supposed servants of the Light were nothing more than boys who thought their calling in life was to bully all those weaker or more vulnerable than them. Such people inevitably received their comeuppance and it seemed their time was now. "You will report your insubordination to whoever your Captain happens to be and will deliver a message to him that he is first to issue suitable punishments to each of you and then inform Lord Captain Jeraal that he is incapable of leading men." That would make their penalties all the more severe... their Captain would not appreciate being demoted and would wish to exact as much revenge as possible before it happened. "You are dismissed!" With that, they practically fell out of the entrance to the tent, each shoving aside the others to be the first to leave.

Satisfied that his words had had a suitable effect, Mikel bent down to give the prisoner a cursory diagnosis, frowning at the high quality Amadician steel, binding his hands to the ground. _They truly have no finesse, no attention to detail,_ he sneered, coldly taking each dagger out of the man's torn hands. A better strategy was to work slowly up the ladder of torture, building up the agony with small, subtle steps. A man who suffered unexpected and sudden pain was often left too shocked to even consider answering questions... it was best to allow him to adapt just enough so that he would be able to talk when the anguish became too much to bear. Bodily picking the man up in his thick, muscular arms, Mikel tossed him out of the way in a shadowy corner of the tent.

"You will remain there until I find time to deal with you," he commanded as if the poor fool could do anything else in his current condition. He would not be capable of anything more than small movements for many hours to come, not with gaping holes through his hands. "I would call someone to bandage those up but perhaps it will serve as further penance for your disrespect... I suggest that you bind them with something clean to prevent infection." Mikel tore his pure white cloak from his shoulders and threw it contemptuously to the man. "This should suffice... I am sure I will be able to afford a new one." The Inquisitor turned away dismissively, finally released to deal with his charge once more. This Gaidin was going to be far more difficult to deal with than he had hoped, broken or not.

"If you are delusional then I might have to heighten the element of pain to force your mind back on track," he said, returning his icy attentions upon Lain. "You know very well what is causing the "itchy side effect" as you put it. And if you think this is the peak of the herbs effect, you are gravely mistaken. A few minutes more and you will be whining... begging for me to tear off your limbs if it will only release you from such suffering. Perhaps I will oblige you if you ask me very nicely." He smirked. Mikel had met the request once or twice but only when he considered his subjects far beyond coherence. He did not intend to wear down Lain so soon when his mind was surely still filled with useful information. "For now, I will assume that you are telling me the truth... perhaps you are truly ignorant of the depraved influence of the Shadow within the walls of your White Tower. I will instead enquire as to your knowledge of Tar Valon. What is the status of your defences? How about the numbers of the Tower Guard... and the exact amount of Aes Sedai and Gaidin in the White Tower at this time?" Mikel sank back into his hard, wooden chair, watching for any sign of weakness, waiting for the moment when the man would finally crack and tell him everything. Everyone had a breaking point.


	3. Repulsion

Gale heard voices, distantly, and then the blade was taken from his throat. He heard the voices recede into the night and he felt the metal blades slide from his hands before he was roughly tossed aside, sending waves of pain through him that caused him to whimper, the intensity almost unbearable. He huddled where he landed and came more awake with the fresh onslaught of pain. He heard that he would be dealt with later, and that he would be given something to bind his hands. The man's cloak was tossed on him before the Inquisitor walked into the night.

With much pain and effort he propped himself up against the side of the tent and pulled the cloak toward him. Every movement was agony and he gritted his teeth as so not cry out. He tore strips off the cloak and wrapped them around the middle of his hands groaning. He would not be going anywhere for a while he knew, and he almost wished he had been killed, just so this could end. Almost. He knew he was saved if only for the reason that he could give them information. If they found out he was Ashaman, he did not know what would happen.

Uncaring, he seized the source and it hid his pain a little bit, making existence more bearable. He made little pictures out of weaves of flame end they danced through the air above him. His breeches were soon soaked, and he sat in a puddle of his own blood. He extinguished the pictures when sunlight began to stream through the tent. _No use giving it to them for free, _he thought. _I will die before the black tower is condemned by me._ He smiled and it looked odd on him, for he should be crying it seemed, with his torn and broken body.

He studied the Warder. He was still covered with the itchweed, but was still, it seemed, uncaring. Gale suddenly admired him for his strength and unyielding. He knew he would never last out this imprisonment, the way he was going. He liked to think that when he died here, it would be soon, and bravely. He thought he would welcome death. Movement from the doorway brought him back to reality and, to his pain.

xxxx

"If you are delusional..." Lain had to resist laughing aloud, gallows humour strong within his bones. Did this thing have no sense of humour? Or at least enough of one to tell when someone was making fun? But perhaps that was a good thing- otherwise he'd probably be dead. He deadened his hearing as the creature droned on about how soon he would beg for death- _I _already_ wish I was dead, fool.._.- then switched subjects. So. He was going to believe- for a moment- that Lain was telling the truth. He bit his lip at the Thing's next words- did he think him a broken man already?

Lain stared contemptuously as he sat in a hard-looking wooden chair, as good as a feather bed in Lain's eyes. "Fine, Questioner," he said, hatred burning in his eyes. "I shall answer your questions." He focused on the pain of his leg, avoiding the intense itching feeling creeping across his body.

He raised his chin, gazing unafraid into the Creature's eyes. "The defenses are such that you will never break through them, not if your numbers doubled and the White Tower held thousands of your spies. The numbers of the Tower Guard are such that you would quiver at the very sight of a quarter of their numbers, and there is never an exact amount of Aes Sedai and Gaidin, though even if there was five in the entire city you would never live to do battle with the Guard."

His lips curled into a slight smile on one side, his chin lowering until he glowered at the man like a demon. "You will never break me, Whitecloak, for I can be broken no more."

xxxx

Mikel smiled. A less experienced man would have lashed out then, perhaps pummeled the victim with wild punches... but this would only end in certain failure. To give into one's emotions was the surest way of spelling out to a man that he had the advantage... hence, increasing his morale to a point where he might even find the strength to resist the very highest levels of torture. That could not be allowed. Calmly the Inquisitor moved closer to the Gaidin, looking at the expression on his face, twisted by the pain and torment of loss. He realized then that Lain had been telling the truth; this was an already broken man. A strange sense of compassion enveloped itself mercilessly around Mikel and he sighed sadly, shaking his head at the thought of the madness that must have overwhelmed the poor fool when his tainted bond with the witch was broken. He could not allow himself to soften though; his life was nothing if not guided by duty.

"You know that the body of your witch remains within our possession, yes?" he mentioned in an offhand, casual manner. "Despite the fact that the attack was unsanctioned, it is highly likely that the normal formalities of our order will be attended to. There are some superstitious enough to believe that she might yet raise herself from death and so she will be hung, drawn and quartered before a prompt burning of her remains. Anything that is left after this will surely be put out for the wolves to feed on." Mikel smiled coldly, not at all off colour by the thought of such an atrocity... like any Lord Inquisitor, he had seen too much in his life to be affected by very much. "Do you truly believe you are as broken as it is possible to be now? Are you so naïve?" The man simply watched him, haunted eyes waiting for whatever his fate might be. "Perhaps I will allow you to watch her passing from this world...? Would you appreciate such a gift?"

No answer. This was fast becoming tiresome and Mikel knew the Lord Captain Commander would not be accepting failure. _I have no desire to be the one hanging by my feet at the end of all this..._ the Amadician reminded himself dryly. It was high time to stop playing child's games with the prisoner and to start being serious. Striding forward, his hand whipped out like a blade and twisted the Gaidin's right arm painfully until an ugly crunch indicated that Mikel had just broken several bones in the man's body. The arm was hanging limply in his hands while the Inquisitor bent it further and further, pushing the bodily limitations of Lain to an all-new level, to a point where anyone else would have been squealing like a girl and begging for the great honour of telling everything they knew. It was truly a shame that this one's fate had taken him to the White Tower... in another life they might even have been friends.

"I am fast losing my patience, young Lain," he muttered, pressing his mouth uncomfortably close to the man's ear as he spoke. "I will not tolerate these... humorous... comments for much longer. I want exact numbers. Will you comply?" Silence. Mikel stretched the arm just a little further, a disturbing creak of torn muscles emanating from within. "Our intelligence indicates that there are fifteen thousand Tower Guard, five hundred Gaidin and some six to seven hundred Aes Sedai. Nonetheless, I have always believed that our agents tend to underestimate the truth. My father always taught me to prepare for the worst though... then all my surprises would be pleasant. So how about you enlighten me as to the exact accuracy of my intelligence?"

xxxx

Gale winced as he heard the bones in the Warder's arm break. It took a lot of self-control not to clutch his arm as it happened, but the thought of his hands made him pull it back. He was almost used to the pain now and knew it would be a long time before it went away. The whitecloak seemed almost frenzied in his questioning about the numbers of the White Tower, Gale was grateful that he was not a well known member of the Black Tower. He hoped his resolve could match the Warder's, but he did not think it so. He remembered when he had met a warder, growing up in Mayene.

He was running, a seven year old boy, running errands for his father, the First's groom. He was going to a blacksmith, so he could grab some more horseshoes that had been ordered. He remembered running into someone so hard he could have sworn it was a wall. The mad wore an eye-wrenching cloak, and his face was deep in a cowl. Soundlessly, he was picked up, dusted off and sent off, but he remembered seeing the man's eyes for a minute. They were dark, yet like eyes, as if the quirking smile on his mouth could never reach them. He had always steered clear of them after that, though they were few and far between.

He was brought out of his musings when he was kicked sharply. He looked up. A face swam in front of his eyes and instantly he regretted the attention he was being given.

xxxx

Lain watched warily as the Monster smiled, moving closer. Lain resisted the urge to spit in the man's face, holding his breath so the Creature's fowl stench wouldn't enter his lungs more than necessary. Disgust twisted his mouth as the man sighed, speaking.

"You know that the body of your witch remains within our possession, yes?" Lain stiffened, his body as rigid as a board. _Mileni..._ But she was gone... there was nothing they could do to her now. She had always told him that the body did not matter, just the mind within it... unless it was his, she would tell him jokingly. And now that she was gone... Repulsion filled his empty stomach as the Creature described what they would do to her now, but it would be useless to die... or even tell them anything... purely to prevent her body being disgraced. Even after he had told them all he knew, they would probably continue on anyway, if they truly believed such madness. Oh, how he wished now that she could live again...

"Do you truly believe you are as broken as it is possible to be now? Are you so naïve?" Lain stared stubbornly back at him, his mouth set in a firm line. "Perhaps I will allow you to watch her passing from this world...? Would you appreciate such a gift?" Lain bit his cheek as he spoke, drawing the metallic taste of blood into his mouth. He would not speak.

Like a striking snake, the Questioner struck forward, twisting his right arm. Bones splintered as blood flooded into his mouth, stars flashing before his eyes. Teeth clamped into his cheek as he relaxed his muscles, trying not to make this worse. If he fought now... He concentrated furiously as the man twisted further, the agony bursting through his thin shield. _I have to save that for later,_ he thought, desperately as he pushed aside his vivid memories of his love.

"I am fast losing my patience, young Lain," the Creature spoke in his ear. Asking for numbers, he twisted the arm still further, past what Lain thought was possible without tearing off his arm. The limb began to go past physical pain, the point reached where it was so intense it was almost possible to completely ignore it. Odd sounds came from the mangled piece of flesh, and Lain turned his face away, not wanting to see how it now appeared.

"Our intelligence indicates that there are fifteen thousand Tower Guard, five hundred Gaidin and some six to seven hundred Aes Sedai..." Through the numbness he had sunken into, a harsh laugh burst from his lips, stripped of humor. How very wrong they were. He raised his head to look into the Monster's face, a hair from his own, pointedly ignoring his right side. "You actually think that?" he muttered incredulously around his bloodied tongue. "You know my purpose, as a Gaidin," he spoke bluntly, his voice thick with torment.

"Most Aes Sedai have at least one Warder, and the Green usually have more," he said pointedly. "So would it not make sense for there to be more Warders than Aes Sedai?"

He licked his lips, wetting the cracked surface gingerly. "And then there's the Novices... and the Accepted..." he trailed off, his face screwing as a wave of pain wracked his body. Panting, he studied the creature before him. "There are never exact numbers, and no-one but the Amyrlin herself would know anything close to the actual figures. Dropping his head from the effort, he looked up at the Questioner again. _I hope that's good enough,_ he though suddenly. _I don't know what other answer I could give, even if I wanted to tell him..._


	4. Asha'man

Mikel reached with a steady hand for the contents scattered across the top of the fold-up table, taking a pot of ink and parchment. He wrote in a neat, rigid hand, each join suitably harsh and severe to reflect the indomitable edge to his personality.

Indications are that the intelligence of our Eyes and Ears is highly inaccurate with regard to the numbers of Aes Sedai, Gaidin and Tower Guard. The prisoner sneered when faced with our agents predictions and intimated that there were at least slightly more Gaidin than Aes Sedai. Prisoner made reference to a specific institution within the Tower, namely the Green Ajah, which claims to be dedicated to fighting Shadowspawn in the Last Battle. Subject indicated that this Ajah often bonded more than one Gaidin. An accurate prediction of numbers would be that there are one thousand Aes Sedai and perhaps two hundred more Warders amongst their ranks. Still no sign as to an estimate of the size of the Tar Valon Army (Tower Guard as they call it).

Setting the pen carefully aside, the Inquisitor nodded with satisfaction, already pleased with his success. This alone would be enough to justify the Questioning and the Lord Captain Commander might well offer him rich rewards and honours for his accomplishments. Mikel was already imagining what further treasures could be pulled out of Lain were he to press the man a little further. _I might make High Inquisitor yet..._ the Amadician told himself with a quietly pleased smirk on his face. The man might have decades yet left in him but accidents can always be arranged if a more worthy person is found to fill his position.

"Good..." Mikel murmured at last, idly wondering whether the sudden loosening of the prisoner's tongue was due to the anguish suffered from the torture or merely because of the contempt he felt for such inaccurate intelligence. "I thank you kindly for your candor, Master Lain," he spoke courteously with a faintly mocking bow. Faintly. An officer of the Hand of the Light could not afford to waste too much time on frivolity. "Since you have been so helpful, I will allow you a few minutes of respite to think on what else you might wish to tell me." Calling over a servant, Mikel commanded the wench to fetch him sweet summer wine and a funnel with which to feed the prisoner. It was a common strategy to reinforce good behaviour through the use of a reward-based system where disobedience was severely punished. A truly broken man would soon show nothing other than total submission in order to avoid the possibility of any further retribution. "Think well on what you wish to tell me Lain... your answers will please me greatly." Slowly picking off scraps of itchweed from the man's wounds, Mikel cleared away thorny leaves until the man was left only with raw red rashes doubtlessly caused by the plant. "Right now, you are pleasing me very much indeed."

At that moment, a rustling to the right of the tent caused him to stare impatiently in the direction of the other prisoner, crouching pitifully on the floor with blood slowly staining Mikel's flawless white cloak pink. Growling with irritation, he strode forward and pulled the young man up by his hair, staring into those pained eyes. This one lacked the hardness and experience of the Gaidin. Good... perhaps he had ignored the man's existence for long enough; perhaps some use could be acquired from involving him in the Questioning. Dragging the lad bodily in the direction of Lain, Mikel tossed him into the chair he had vacated and tilted his head curiously at this captive who still held an element of youth and innocence in his boyish features. This could be very useful indeed.

"What's your name, boy?" he demanded, icy eyes glancing in the direction of the Gaidin to remind him of the price that inevitably came with defiance. "And your affiliations? Everyone serves something, so what country or organization do you owe allegiance to, I wonder?" While he waited for the young one to find his breath from the sheer shock of being hauled up by his hair, Mikel turned back to Lain who was slowly being fed wine through a rusted metallic funnel while he remained hung upside down by his feet. "Now if you are ready, I was wondering if you could tell me a few more things, Lain. I wish to know of the structural strengths and limitations of your White Tower, including how effective any siege attempts are likely to be and what strategies should be employed to insure maximum success. You might also do well by informing me of the response most commonly used by Aes Sedai in a situation where they are at war with someone and what they would be likely to do in reaction to a siege attempt." Smiling pleasantly Mikel waited for the two men to respond, his eyes outwardly calm and placid. _I wonder how Lain will react when he is forced to watch the gradual breaking of a fellow captive...? This should be very interesting indeed._

xxxx

Gale gasped in surprise as he was thrown bodily into a chair by his hair. He felt every inch of pain sharply, and those inches were adding up to miles. He stared up at the Whitecloak, trying his best to glare. His small frame was covered in blood, bruises and cuts, and he thought it might just look pathetic in his state. He swallowed, catching his breath. "My name? Is that so important, when you have not been treating me as a person? I think you do not care for names but instead my, affiliations, leaders, persons of association?" Rage built inside him, and he did not think about the words as they spilled from his mouth. "The Black Tower cannot be destroyed by Whitecloaks. We have a vast army of great power, for the few men we have count as ten a piece with their skills. You cannot destroy where I come from, we will pull your flesh from you body with air. You won't be able to see what rips you apart, but you will feel it until the minute you die!" He was filled with anger that quickly subsided after he had finished speaking.

The anger quickly turned into shock at what he had said. He cursed internally. _No!_ he thought, _What did I just tell him! Why did I say that?!_ He stared at the ground, waiting for the Whitecloak to name him the source of all evil, a minion of the Dark One, to be killed at once. He might as well go out with a bang. "I will not tell you more, not if you break every bone in my body. Try me, Whitecloak." He tried to stare at him, acting arrogant and unafraid, while inside he was scared. _I wonder what he will do to me, _he thought. He knew then too, that he would not be able to help telling more than he had. He knew much more would pour from his mouth before he was truly broken. He thought it would not matter if he was to die anyway, though a spark had lit inside his mind, a spark of hope. _What if I could get out?_

xxxx

Mikel did not waste his time bandying words with the man once he heard of his affiliations. The Inquisitor sprung backwards, as if shying away from the hiss of a venomous viper. There was no telling how strong the man actually was but judging by the stories they were hearing of this Black Tower, it was entirely possible that he would be able to obliterate an entire legion of Children. This was most concerning... but Mikel was practical enough to see how he could acquire some advantage from the situation. _The Lord Captain Commander might well be rewarding me for two great achievements by the end of the day, _he thought idly, seriously considering for the first time that the position of High Inquisitor really was only a step away.

"Get the herb doctor and tell him to bring any plants with a sedative effect," he growled at the nearest Child who was looking on with an appearance of utter shock in his eyes that so aptly reflected Mikel's feelings. "Go man! Run unless you have a great desire to be responsible for the death of hundreds of our army... if you survived, be assured that the Captain Commander would not allow this to be the case for very long." That at least was enough to send him running, his pale face flushed red with the shock of what had just come to pass. Mikel's features remained as serene and unruffled as ever, shooting a thoughtful look at the young man. _Why is he not channelling then...?_ he wondered suddenly, realising that perhaps the situation was not so desperate as it had seemed at first. The minutes passed slowly by and still the boy looked up at him, his breath coming in short, harsh rasps. _Do his injuries prevent him from accessing the One Power...?_ That seemed the only explanation or why would the lad simply sit there staring?

"I am here, my Lord Inquisitor!" gasped the doctor, chronic fear in his deep-set brown eyes indicating that the Child must have told him that the prisoner was an Asha'man. _Flaming, Light-blinded fool! He'll barely be able to administer anything to the man without trembling with the effort not to soil himself._

"Prepare a tea for the captive!" Mikel barked impatiently, gesturing for the doctor to get to work. "Something that will leave him dazed and incapacitated but still conscious and capable of speaking and feeling sensations... specifically painful ones." The man quickly got to work without needing any further convincing and Mikel simply prayed to the Light or whoever would listen that it would be enough. It was all he could do not to growl at the healer to move faster but he knew this would only serve to exacerbate the situation. He mustn't panic... a mistake here could be fatal. "Fetch three more guards to join us in the tent and fifty more to guard the exterior," he commanded the Child who was still standing there with sheer panic deeply embedded into his dark face. "I don't want to take any chances."

The doctor was already forcing a cold tea down the lad's throat, no doubt unwilling to wait long enough to heat up a cup of water. The poor fool was almost crying with the obvious exertion of going near such a vile creature and as soon as the substance was administered, he backed away with a convulsive shudder, whimpering at the thought of what he had done.

"You can leave now," Mikel said in a surprisingly gentle voice, patting the man almost companionably on the back. "You have done well and shown more courage than many of the most hardy of Children could have managed. For now, you may wait outside the tent until I have need of you again." Turning back towards the drugged and docile boy who would now be harmless for an hour or two longer, Mikel sneered contemptuously. "You have made a very foolish mistake my friend. You are going to tell me everything you can of the Black Tower... everything or I swear you will share the same fate as Lain here before your sentence is pronounced." And the only sentence for a man who drew tainted saidin would surely be death. "I give you a simple choice now... die easy or die hard."

xxxx

Gale sat listening to the man roar out orders. His head was forced back and a frightened little man was forcing a tincture down his throat. He coughed and fought to no avail. He was not strong enough to resist. He was desperate now, and could feel himself sliding into a drugged state. He seized the power, knowing that it was most dangerous to do so. He fought for control and tried to weave fire. Small flames spurted from his finger tips and he knew this was all that he could accomplish. The flames died and he slumped, the tea taking full affect. He heard his choices dying, or dying, it did not matter how to him. _Unfortunately, _he thought muddily, _I can still feel everything. _He did not answer the Whitecloak, keeping a stubborn silence.

He thought about the reactions of the Inquisitor and his other men. They were scared. If he could use that to his advantage..... _well, not in this state,_ he thought, _but if I can keep him at arms length long enough for him to maybe heal..._ Well, he would at least have a chance. Maybe if they thought he was mad from the taint. Yes, that would be worth a try. It did not take much for him to start laughing, for these thoughts made him laugh all the louder.

There was a price for his mirth, though. Waves of pain jolted through him, his ribs being severely broken. He gasped and fell off of his chair, spluttering as his mouth filled with blood from his lungs. He rolled onto his face hacking and bringing up more blood. He rolled into a ball, trying to control his breathing, settling it into a rasp. He did not think that the Whitecloak would let him die now, now that he knew where he had come from. He felt himself being pulled roughly over onto his back. He started to laugh.

xxxx

Lain watched interestedly as the Creature stumped across the darkened tent, scribbling down something. _Does he actually think that was useful?_ he thought incredulously. He quickly made a mental note to review anything he would say again. How would telling them that the numbers were _greater_ than what they though be useful If anything, would it not _prevent_ an attack on the Tower? _Idiot,_ he thought dismissively.

A wary look appeared on his face as the Thing smirked. "Good..."he muttered, that infuriating smile still in place. "I thank you kindly for your candor, Master Lain," he said with a teasing bob. "Since you have been so helpful, I will allow you a few minutes of respite to think on what else you might wish to tell me." If anything, Lain was put even more on his guard by this. A respite. During a questioning. He shook his head slightly. Just when a man had his balance again, no matter how precarious... The look turned to slightly satisfied as he sent for wine and a funnel. Perhaps it was poisoned...

He shivered as the Monster picked away the remaining plant on his cuts and slices, wanting to shrink away from his disconcertingly delicate touch. "Right now, you are pleasing me very much indeed." His body seized up as he thought furiously. _Well, that's the end of that,_ he thought angrily. _No more pleasing._ He was spared from further trouble when the Thing turned away to the other man as he opened his mouth. Shutting it with a snap, he peered into the corner where the man huddled. Blood covered the filthy Questioner's cloak, more seeping out as the Creature threw him into a chair.

_Poor man, _he thought again, glad to have a distraction from the growing stabs of agony in his arm. He recoiled abruptly, a hard piece of metal jammed beneath his teeth. He tried to spit it out, glaring at the Whitecloak who held it, but was cut short as a flood of liquid flowed through it. He gagged at the taste, sweet juices and alcohol mixing with the bitter rust coating the funnel. He tried to spit it out, but the man held his nose closed, forcing him to swallow. Amid the dribbles of red wine running into his eyes, he noticed the Thing moving closer, and he redoubled his efforts.

"Now, if you are ready..." The Thing asked him questions again, deluded in that Lain would answer. He actually thought Lain would tell him all those things?!

"If you had a siege, the Aes Sedai would kill you all," he snapped bitterly, barely finishing before the other prisoner spoke. His eyes widened as he heard the angry words spill from his broken lips. An Asha'man! _Another idiot,_ he though once more. _Why tell them?_ He watched coldly as the Channeler was force-fed a tea, rendering him unable to touch the tainted Saidin. _Serves him right,_ he thought with a sneer as the Questioner advanced on the helpless man.

"...Die easy or die hard." the Monster spoke. Lain's eyebrows climbed as the bloody Asha'man fell of his chair, laughing. _Keep laughing, you son of a Trolloc,_ he thought fervently. _Perhaps then he'll decide you're more worthy of attention..._ He stilled his body, retreating into himself as he tried to disappear.


	5. Iron

Mikel was forced to summon extra reserves of self-control to hold back an enraged growl at the two fellows who held information that might surely earn him a place in the history books as the greatest High Inquisitor that had ever graced the ranks of the Children. More important than that and for a better cause, it provided him with an opportunity to cut at the ranks of the two greatest blights on the world, other than the Shadow itself. What these men knew might be the key to destroying the White and Black Towers, exterminating these so-called Asha'man by the hundreds and permanently obliterating the witches from existence... if that was even possible anymore without the support and unity of all the nations in the world. _That is not my problem though..._ he told himself, shoving away his apprehensions. _It is the Lord Captain Commander's job to make agreements and mine to give him what information he requires._

"I have always been a very patient man," he explained coolly to Lain, walking back towards the Gaidin, with his disarmingly friendly smile returned as if it had never left. "But you must understand that this situation is most delicate. This... Asha'man... is a rabid dog, tamed or no... the effects of the drug will not last and I cannot feed him it indefinitely. I shall have to dispose of the lad quickly and efficiently," he whispered again, making certain that the young one would not here. Mikel knew that not all in the White Tower had yet accepted the Asha'man as a legitimate organization and it was quite possible that Lain was as contemptuous of a channelling male as he was of the Children of the Light. "I am afraid I can waste no more time with adhering to the prescribed stages of Questioning."

He backed away out of the tent and murmured a few words to the waiting guards, quiet enough that only the men he directed his orders at could possibly have heard and even those just barely. A few of the greener recruits gasped at his request but the veterans and experienced officers quickly set to work, fetching what he required with a calm, steady march with only the slightest hint that they were in any great hurry. Mikel allowed himself a small touch of pride at the cool discipline emanating from his guards; no other armed force in the world displayed such order and unity with the possible exception of the Seanchan. _A worthy foe indeed, and one I look forward to testing in the Questioning Chambers... I can surely break one of these High Lords with enough time and the correct tools._

"Relax while you still may, gentlemen," he spoke, re-entering the tent with a smile less pleasant than he usually showed to prisoners. "When my men return, you will learn what it means to be put to the question." The wait was rather a long one, minutes trickling away while the guards in the room watched the Asha'man with obvious apprehension. In fact, all three looked ready to spit him with their swords at the hint of trouble and Mikel did not tell any of them to back away... the thought of stabbing the man seemed more and more the wise decision with each passing second. At last, the troops returned.

Two officers struggled in, each carrying a huge metal bucket apiece, steam rising from within in thick, hot jets, a forewarning of what was to come. A man strode at their head, the confidence in his eyes not quite concealing the obvious apprehension that Mikel could see clearly from the perspiration running down his face in streams and the creases of concern marring his usually smooth forehead. Savran was a Hand with a decade-long experience of Questioning behind, more so than anyone else in the camp. _Still not a patch on my abilities of course, but when necessity calls..._

"Set to work on the Asha'man, Lieutenant," he told the man, turning back towards the other bucket that had been set carefully beside Lain. Now the Gaidin would be able to see the contents held within, iron rods and pincers swimming in a pool of red-hot coals, heat enough to forge good steel. He did not pass the Asha'man over to Savran out of fear, though... Mikel knew who the real foe was... Lain waited with the same expression that he had held throughout the Questioning... calm, distant, aloof. "I will have my answers, Gaidin." The screams began moments later, as steaming poles were shoved deep into vulnerable flesh, sizzling and crackling with the sheer force of heat meeting with soft, tender skin.

xxxx

Gale felt the hot metal dig hard into his flesh. He screamed as he had never screamed before, his throat turning raw. Violent waves of pain coursed through him. He could smell his skin burning and dying as he thrashed trying to break free though the pincers were strongly closed onto the skin and in his drugged state his efforts were feeble. He arched with the pain, praying to die so this would stop, anything to end the pain. His whole body burned with pain. Then for an instant it stopped. He lay, panting before he spoke hoarsely.

'Light help me." It was a whisper but he put all of his strength into the small prayer. He shuddered as he breathed in and out in pants and gasps. His vision swam and he could see white figures standing in front of him. Sweat soaked him, seeping into all of his wounds stinging them with the salt. He thought he could see the faces of the men in front of him, looking pleased? He could not tell.

He thought he heard voices, but could not discern what was said. He wavered on the edge of consciousness, slipping into the black before being brought out by the pain. A fresh onslaught of pain pushed him over the brink and he fell into the black completely.

He floated there, the nightmares starting almost at once. Here, he was ravaged by a different sort of demon, one he also could not escape. Outside of the black his body shook, reflecting the mental pain. The power opened up to him in this, and whips of air and fire flew out from him, as if fighting off an invisible foe. The black was consuming him.

xxxx

Lain winced at the look on the Monster's face, one of pure rage almost akin to what he himself was feeling. As quickly as it had come, the emotion appeared to be mastered, replaced with the cool, charming smile Lain was fast growing to hate as much as the man who wore it.

"I have always been a very patient man..." he said calmly, without a hint of the feelings of moments before. "...dispose of the lad..." He wasn't surprised at this. Surely, the man near him was barely of age, but the Whitecloak filth would certainly see him as no better, if not worse, than an Aes Sedai.

"I am afraid I can waste no more time with adhering to the prescribed stages of Questioning." _Light help me,_ he thought quickly. Shock registered at such a break from protocol, but it was distant, sliding off the surface of the Void. He would need every ounce of strength to get through what he knew was coming. He retreated into his body, further than before. Dimly, he noticed the Monster send for something. Something. _I will not dwell on it,_ he told himself firmly. He pushed away his anger, his hatred... even his grief. Tension hung thick in the air, a feather to Lain. Lain was not the dangerous one. He almost felt sorry for the other imprisoned member of the tent, he was so young... but pushed the feeling away. He must be hard.

Steaming metal buckets were carried in, the men bearing them sweating. The Whitecloak at their head looked wary; why? Questions floated across the calm, and swiftly ignored. "Set to work on the Asha'man, Lieutenant," the Questioner snapped. As the Monster himself turned to him, Lain noticed what was in the bucket. Shuddering despite the Void, he closed his eyes, relaxing his body. "I will have my answers, Gaidin."

The first thrust of metal seemed painless, a slight pushing feeling accompanying it. Seconds later, searing pain raced through him. Screams ripped from his throat as he buried himself in the memories, clinging to sanity with tooth and nail. The scent of burnt meat seeped into his nose, sickening him as he arched his back. Eyelids squeezed tightly shut, he tried desperately to ignore the torments the Monster was wreaking upon his naked flesh. He prayed to the light for unconsciousness to come, for the black oblivion of death to swallow him and carry him into Mileni's waiting arms- but it did not come. Peace was denied him, and he screamed endlessly, his throat gurgling with blood.

A lull finally came after what seemed days of agony, and he hung limply, his resources spent. The Void had been abandoned long ago, thrown down in tatters, and only the memories of his Love's soft embrace had kept him from gibbering all he knew. His eyes still locked shut, he panted heavily, trying vainly to keep the pain at bay.

xxxx

Not for the first time, Mikel mercilessly suppressed the desire to pummel Lain with mindless kicks and punches, anything that would release his rage and frustration would be a welcome relief at that moment. Instead, he maintained his smile, only slightly feigned. Despite the icy barriers between them and the fact that this man had been in service to the Tower witches, the Inquisitor still maintained a grudging respect for the Gaidin, admiring his hardy resolve. _This one would truly have made a formidable Hand with training... he might well have reached my own rank given enough time and experience._ Yet Mikel knew Lain would be held back by his own intrinsic weaknesses... this one would surely be too distracted by his own feelings of remorse and compassion towards his prisoners. Guilt was the deadliest emotion in the torture chambers; anger could be focused into a lethal weapon, amusement could unbalance the experienced captive. Yet guilt served only as a distraction, holding back a man from what must be done. It was these thoughts that finally gave Mikel the key... to think he had been wasting his energies with physical torment when it was the mental aspects that would surely be this Gaidin's downfall.

"It is clear that the pincers will have no effect on you, yes...?" the Inquisitor spoke once more, smoothly covering the brief triumphant smile that flashed across his lips. "I truly marvel at your stolid nature, Lain... I must confess that I would almost certainly break at this stage of the questioning, if not earlier. It is perhaps fortunate for my own well being that our positions are not reversed, though I am sure you would not agree," he murmured with a sly grin as if sharing a particularly amusing private joke with the Gaidin. "Needless to say, I do not intend to let you live after what has come to pass between us in the last few hours. Your face would surely be a plague on even the most pleasant of my dreams and every moment I spend awake I would think of nothing else other than the day that you finally return seeking vengeance." Naturally, Mikel was speaking a pack of lies to Lain... the only truth within all the deception had been that the hard-eyed Gaidin would die. _I do not fear death but nor will I sign my own death warrant by allowing him to live._ "I only hope that you understand why I have done all this... out of necessity; I will find those who pull the strings within the ranks of the Shadow and I will pull them down, with or without your help. I would prefer that it be with."

Mikel gave no further warning before dragging the nearest serving girl up by her hair and unsheathing his belt knife, pressing naked steel to milky-smooth skin. _I will have my answers Lain... you can clearly stand to watch your own body being gradually mutilated, piece by piece, but can you suffer the same happening to another person...? An innocent person, no less? A woman._ The Amadician pushed down a thread of shame at what he had been lowered to and was shocked to find it there at all. _You have no choice,_ he told himself firmly. _Imagine the lives you will save and the Shadow-born atrocities prevent by your actions this night... it must be done._ His thoughts were concrete in their resolve and the vague resonance of remorse that Mikel had felt for such a brief moment, quickly faded to nothing. His dark eyes hardened.

"Would you allow such a thing as this to happen, Lain?" he inquired without a tremor in his voice, ignoring the disgusted grunts of protest coming even from the ranks of his own Children. In the background, the Asha'man's boyish screams continued unabated, close enough to the sounds of a child in anguish to make for a cold, unnerving atmosphere. But Mikel would not relent. He pressed the sharp blade a little deeper into the woman's flesh, a single drop of blood falling like a bead of dew from the dagger's point. She whimpered pitifully but did not struggle, obviously retaining enough sense to realize such an attempt would only end in her certain death. "Do you think you could avoid moral guilt if I killed her, perhaps? What harm comes to this woman will be as much your fault as mine... I do this because you refuse to cooperate. Look at her... look at this life that you have so callously placed on the balance scales of fate." He pulled her head back a little further and again she squealed, moist tears of wretched fear and desperation just then beginning to run in torrents down her young, pretty face. "What is your name, girl? Have you a family? A husband?"

"Sahra Harazan, my Lord," she gasped after a few moments had passed, unable to raise her voice above a croaking whisper. "I have a family, sir... Jon is my husband... a good man and true, he would take so unkindly to my death, L-lord Inquisitor. And my children, Georg and Rachel... the girl is such a sweet one, sir... please my Lord, please don't-"Mikel twisted his black-gloved hands mercilessly in her hair to quiet that innocent voice, to shut the words out of his mind. He could not deny it now; the shame had returned and it was no longer a distant echo but almost powerful enough to overwhelm his determination and resolution to succeed. Nonetheless, his features remained outwardly uncaring, a purposely frenzied edge in the look he shot at Lain as if to suggest he truly was pushed to the end of his tether, to the point where he would slit a woman's throat. _And I will if I must... I will._

"You can see the life you are destroying well enough, Gaidin," he spoke, forcing his hand to begin moving, the dagger sliding slowly and tortuously towards her vulnerable windpipe which if cut, could only be healed with the dark powers of the witches in their White Tower. "Now give me something... anything, man! A name... a whisper of the Shadow... I know that there are different levels of corruption within the Tower. I want to find those who have truly sworn their souls over to the Dark One." Again he spoke blasphemy, to suggest that any witch might not be a Darkfriend but given the circumstances he did not think any of the waiting guards would have noticed. "Tell me, Lain... speak and I will give you the death that I know you so greatly yearn." Silence. There was a speculative look in the Gaidin's eyes but still he stubbornly refused to open his mouth. "I am not asking you to betray your White Tower anymore, you blind fool!!" he growled impatiently. Mikel would not ask that of him again; Lain might even be hard enough to let the woman die if it meant defending the Aes Sedai that he was sworn to protect. "Give me any piece of information you can, even if you think it insignificant... speak truthfully and you may yet rest peacefully." Silence, yet again. The Lord Inquisitor sighed in grim defeat and accepted the inevitable. The serving girl had to die; even if Lain would not talk, he could not show a hint of weakness or hesitation in front of his men. His right hand moved again and this time the girl knew her fate for sure. Within the space of a split second, she would pass from this world and then with the Creator's blessing, perhaps she would be allowed to rest for all eternity in his Palm. Perhaps. _The Light forgive me..._

xxxx

Lain blearily gazed up at the man he had grown to recognize as the embodiment of everything he hated, trying to clear his mind enough to deal with whatever would be thrown at him next. The infuriating smile was still worn, the cold eyes still weighing and calculating him, searching unceasingly for a weakness. His stomach clenched with nausea as the Monster's face suddenly lit, the eyes bright with triumph. It was quickly concealed by the cool smile, but he had seen it. The question was, had he actually found a weakness?

"It is clear that the pincers will have not effect on you, yes...?" he asked slowly. A wave of pain washed over Lain suddenly, causing his ears to ring and vision to be blinded. When his eyes refocused on the Creature, he had moved on a little. "...needless to say, I do not intend to let you live..." If Lain could have moved, he would have nodded slightly. He had been expecting this all along- it came as no surprise, when it was what he had known would happen since... the incident... "...I only hope you understand..." _Bastard,_ he though bitterly. Did he honestly expect Lain to forgive him? To _understand?_

_Of course not,_ he replied to himself. _Of course not._

The Creature snapped into movement, so suddenly that Lain found himself shocked by the speed. In contrast, his thoughts seemed to move like cool honey. The Monster had nabbed a serving girl, laying his blade at her throat. She was young, and pretty, having such smooth skin... Mileni's face flashed before his mind's eye. He found himself disbelieving- surely even a Whitecloak would not sink so low?

"Would you allow such a thing as this to happen, Lain?" he asked coldly, no emotion evident in his voice. Murmurs of discontent came from the other Whitecloaks? A line of red appeared on the silky skin as screams echoed in the background. _I'm hallucinating,_ he thought suddenly. _Yes, that's it, I'm delusional._ The girl whined, tears marking tracks on her dust-stained cheeks, but it was distant to him. The Monster's mouth moved, but no sound was evident to Lain, no noise permeated his ears...

"...please don't-"Sound reached his ears suddenly. _Not a hallucination, _he told himself roughly. Black-gloved fingers were entwined in the woman's soft hair, the face that commanded the hand bright with zeal. The knife slid slowly across the woman's neck, to the centre and most vulnerable part, ready to cut...

"...speak and I will give you the death that I know you so greatly yearn..." Death. He would be given death. To be with Mileni again... His love... But he would have to give in. Pain filled his eyes as he looked at the girl, so young, but he could not. Would not. "I am not asking you to betray your White Tower anymore, you blind fool!" Too slow, his thoughts moved too slow... "Give me any piece of information you can, even if you think it insignificant... speak truthfully and you may yet rest peacefully." The Creature sighed, his right hand twitching. He would kill her... he was going to murder her... she was innocent... Time flowed slowly, every second an Age.

Mileni's face flashed before him again, no longer in his mind's eye, but on the body of the helpless woman. Helpless...

"NO!!" he shouted, a last effort from his raw throat. "Please... stop..." he begged, tears of grief and rage streaming down his cheeks. The knife stilled, and he heaved a sigh of relief. His life was not worth a woman's. _Mileni, forgive me..._

"There was an Aes Sedai..." he began, the words thick within his bloodied throat. "She... Aes Sedai cannot lie. They cannot..." He shook his head, the movement causing his torso to burn, but he ignored it. Just a few more moments... "Alisain Drogorna Sedai..." His voice grew soft. "She lied..." He didn't know how he still remembered that- he had long ago deemed it insignificant, but Mileni had always though the Black Ajah had a way to be release of the Oaths...

He glared into death's face, defiant to his last breath. "Let her go." He closed his eyes then, waiting for death to come, and with it, Mileni.


	6. Escape?

Walking slowly and painfully, he walked to the Warder, suspended in the air. He softly put a hand over the man's mouth, and gave him a look he hoped the man could read. Gale moved behind the Warder and tore the remaining cloak material into strips. Praying the man would not cry out, or shout, he tried to carefully, bind the wounds, so the Warder could walk, if slowly and painfully. Walking to the table of instruments, he found a sharp one and cut the ropes, suspending the Warder, catching him as best he could so the man would not fall too hard.

Gritting his teeth against the fresh pain of his burned skin, he pulled the Warder up, trying to support him. Slowly they moved toward the doorway of the tent. Gale collected himself, and wove a mask of mirrors around them both, tying it off and releasing the source. He stayed out of the firelight, making for the edge of the woods. Calls came out to them, raucously, for it looked as if one Child was supporting another as they walked toward the woods, for he had given one of them a drunken appearance. Nothing to worry about, just one Whitecloak helping his ill companion to a place where he could sick up in peace.

They reached the woods and continued, going on for how long, Gale did not know. When he could stand it no longer, he dropped the Gaidin a little roughly against a tree, wincing. He found his own and leaned against it, ignoring the protests of his burned skin. The Mask had long since unraveled. He had never felt so helpless. He sat, not knowing what to do.

xxxx

Mikel allowed himself an elated smile when the man finally spoke the name. Such a simple thing to say. Alisain Drogorna. Aes Sedai of the White Tower. And a known liar. The Inquisitor had known from the look in the Gaidin's eyes that the words he spoke were truthful, at least from his perception. Unfortunately, there were still great risks in trusting his opinion; the words this witch spoke might well have been truthful... Lain could simply have believed it to be a lie. Perhaps he had simply been misinformed about the situation, rendering his point of view utterly useless. Either way Mikel did believe that the oaths existed in some form or another; the witches were so corrupted and debased from their own power that they needed some form of binding that would hold them to their vows. A true follower of the Light would not need such things... a promise should be enough for honest folk... it only confirmed in his eyes that all witches were tainted and impure.

"Yet there must be different levels of corruption," he murmured to himself once again, more and more certain of this fact with each passing moment. At least the witches who hold to their oaths are clawing onto some twisted form of unity and trust... better than those of them who have found some way to break the pledge. It truly made sense to Mikel; those who were fully immersed in Shadow must be the ones who could knowingly tell a lie. "Thank you Lain... thank you very much indeed." Finally he released the serving girl and quickly dismissed the wretch with a sharp clap of his hands. "You are hereby released for a three month leave of absence... and you will no longer work in my presence." The break would be needed for the wench to retain some vestige of sanity and she would lose even that if she were to ever serve near him again. "Go!"

She all but crawled out of the tent, staggering through the exit and screaming at the top of her voice as if loud noises would serve as some form of protection against the crazed Lord Inquisitor. Meanwhile the Children looked at him with varying levels of emotion in their eyes, some quite obviously horrified that he would use an innocent woman in his designs while others only appearing to pity him, a man clearly so obsessed with his job that he had lost even the ability to feel a hint of compassion. Most disturbing of all were the ones who seemed intrigued by his actions... even... pleased. _Fools, all of them!_ _Distracting themselves with emotion when there is a job to do._

"Do not be disheartened by your submission, Lain," Mikel said, turning his head back towards the Warder. "All of us have our limits... I would not have spoken a word had I been in your position just then... but as for the torture... suffice it to say that the first touch of a steaming pincer would loosen my tongue in good time." _Why are you comforting him...? He is tainted by the White Tower, probably more lost to the Shadow than any living thing other than Shadowspawn. You cannot allow yourself to like him._ "I truly am sorry for what pain I have caused you... in an ideal world, it would not have been necessary." Turning away towards the exit, Mikel shot back a few last words to the Gaidin. "I will expect a little more information from you with regards to this Aes Sedai but once I am fully satisfied, I will allow you a quick and clean beheading." That was usually reserved for the nobility but Lain deserved that much mercy. "One more day, Warder... one day and you can have your long rest."

Finally departing from the tent, he ordered the guards to remain alert and told the herb doctor to administer a further dose of that tea to the Asha'man within the next fifteen minutes. _That one has not given away so much as a slither of information yet..._ Mikel mused, reminding himself that Lain was not the only valuable commodity held in that tent. Yet even a Lord Inquisitor needed a respite at times... causing suffering to others was a draining experience, to say the least. There was also other business to attend to; the question was, who should Mikel send out messages to? _Not many amongst the Children share my beliefs... my belief that not all witches bathe in the Shadow would be construed as treason by most. Perhaps even by the Lord Captain Commander, sensible as he may usually be._ He would send word to his agents in Tar Valon that he desired information about this woman... this Alisain Drogorna. It would be best to write down that name as well; even the slightest mistake in spelling or pronunciation could ruin all his plans. _I will find them though... I will find these Shadow Circles. I vow it._

It was this thought that spurred him on as he sat down in his own tent once more and began scribbling out various messages, some addressed to the Lord Captain Commander, others to his Eyes and Ears and still more to those of the Hand that were under his direct command. The letter to the Commander mentioned only his suspicions about the numbers of Aes Sedai and Gaidin; that information alone would suffice to raise his prestige amongst the Children. It was a great risk indeed to not mention what else he had discovered but Mikel was willing to put even his own life in the balance if it served to unearth the Shadow. _I will find the Circles._

"My Lord Inquisitor," a breathless voice announced, marching into the tent with a fearful look in his eyes. "The prisoners... they have both escaped... the Asha'man... he used the Power... guards, my Lord... dozens dead." Mikel nodded thoughtfully. Curious indeed... the tea had been far less effective than he might have hoped for. Surprisingly though, he did not feel fury; the truly important information had been unearthed, Lain had given him the key to the Shadow, Mikel was certain of it.

"Arrest the herb doctor for incompetence but advise the Lord Captain that chasing the pair would be in vain." The boy Asha'man would not be caught by surprise a second time. People learned from their mistakes and if he had the same sort of training as the majority of these Black Tower fellows then recapturing the boy might well end in hundreds of casualties. Perhaps even a whole legion. It was not worth the sacrifice. "You are dismissed, Child." There was work to be done.

xxxx

Words vaguely registered in Lain's ears; thanks from the Monster, him releasing the poor girl... the girl with Mileni's face... Screams from the girl's throat as she stumbled out of the tent... Mutters of discontent from the more human Whitecloaks...

"...I will expect a little more information..." His body tensed. Would the filthy Creature keep his promise? To see Mileni again... was that still too much to ask? "...once I am fully satisfied, I will allow you..." He relaxed again, releasing his tensed muscles. Mileni. Just one day... As he heard the Creature finally leave the tent, he opened his eyes slightly, peering out of tiny slits. The guards stood straight, firmly staring at both him and the Asha'man. Mostly the latter, though. A broken, mutilated Gaidin held no threat; not to them, not to anyone. His eyes slid shut once more as a few of the guards shifted to force-feed some vile concoction to the other prisoner. Sleep took him.

He woke at a rustling behind him, the direction of the Asha'man. He opened his eyes, mildly curious as to what was happening- and if the Monster had returned. A glance to the entrance of the tent relieved the last fear; he was not back. His eyes closed again, then snapped open. Where were the guards? The movement behind him suddenly took on more meaning. Could it be? Was escape actually possible? _Do I care?_

A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, the Asha'man standing at his side. Eyes wide, Lain stared back at him, staying silent. Understanding the look in the man's eyes, he bit his lips as he moved behind Lain. Ripping sounds ensued, and blinding pain hit Lain between the eyes as strips of cloth were carefully wrapped around his ruined leg. As he was still blinking the stars away, he fell, his ropes sliced. The Asha'man clumsily caught him as he fell, slowing his descent.

The man pulled at him, trying to stand. Realization dawned on him as he wrapped his left arm around the man's neck, his right hanging useless and ignored at his side. He hopped carefully on his less-injured leg, moving slowly towards the entrance. _This will never work,_ he thought vaguely. _Never... _Yet Whitecloaks nodded and called at them as they moved, laughing. As they reached the woods, Lain was numb with shock and pain, disbelief coursing through his body. After a while, they dropped to the ground wearily, Lain falling against a tree. Another wave of agony shot through his right arm, which he had landed on, but he barely noticed. He stared in disbelief at his rescuer, who leaned against his own tree, covered with burns, his hands ruined.

"You..." he began, in a voice hoarse with screams. "You... Thank you..." he murmured. "How... How did you..." He shook his head. It didn't matter. "I don't suppose you can Heal," he said wearily, twisting to re-bind his leg. Blood had begun pouring from the wound again, and he stuffed the cloth into it, tearing strips of his trousers to secure it. "I don't think it would help at this point anyway," he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and leaning backwards.


	7. Struggles to Survive

Gale leaned heavily against the tree, ignoring the agony from his skin and ribs. "I can heal. It is one of my talents. As for getting out, I created an illusion. We looked like Whitecloak soldiers. " He paused, letting his breath come in gasps. "I can heal you. It will not ever be the same, since you have not had immediate healing, but it will help." He dragged himself over to the warder, and laid a hand on his arm, the one he hoped was not injured. He opened himself up, knowing it was a stupid thing to do in his state, but he did so anyway. He bit his lips as the weaves flowed from his hands, biting into them and burning him. When it was done he curled up, holding his hands to his chest, trying to stop the pain. "It is as best as I can manage now." He spoke through sobs that he had been keeping in as best he could, this last agony pushing him over the edge.

When he had recovered, he inched his way over to his tree and sat back against it. He kept his eyes down, ashamed at loosing control in front of a Warder, who he had heard showed very little emotion. He was exhausted from channeling, and every movement he made was violently protested by his body. He knew he could not heal himself, it was a well known rule of healing. He closed his eyes and drifted off, restless, but sleeping.

xxxx

Lain raised an eyebrow as the Asha'man answered, concentrating on his voice. He could Heal... what were the chances of that? Before he could protest, the man crawled over, placing a hand on his arm. "N-" he tried to say, but was swept away in the Healing. He convulsed with cold as flows- _filthy, tainted flows..._ whispered a small voice within him- coursed through him. He felt the flood of blood down his leg slow to a trickle, then stop completely. Lain slumped back against his trunk as the man moved away, clutching his mangled hands.

"It is as best as I can manage now..." the Asha'man wept, tears falling down his face uncontrolled. Lain looked into his face, surprised. Of course... it was so obvious now. The Asha'man was still only a boy- he had never had to go through anything even remotely like this before. Realizing he was staring, he quickly averted his eyes, peering down. _Poor boy,_ he thought yet again, biting his lip.

After awhile, the noises stopped, and Lain looked up, finding the boy back at his tree. His eyes slowly closed, and his breathing evened as he fell asleep. Lain considered him, casting a critical eye over his wounds. Most of the burn marks looked pretty painful, but bearable, for awhile. His palms, on the other hand... It looked like something had been driven straight through, to the other side... and remnants of a blood-stained white rag hung over both hands. Sighing, he crawled to the boy's side. Setting his back against the trunk, he brought his good leg up, tearing strips off the cuff of his breeches.

Praying to the Light for him to be out cold, he gently took the rags off his hands, wiping away blood with them before burying them in the dirt. Wiping his hands on his thighs, he tightly bound the hands in the fresh strips, tying them securely. That done, he leaned back, the exhaustion from his ordeal and the Healing finally catching up to him, carrying him into a deep sleep.

xxxx

Gale woke sometime later, his hands throbbing. If anything he felt more tired, rather than refreshed from his sleep. Looking down at his hands he saw that the wrappings had been replaced. He looked around and saw the Warder near him, asleep. Preparing himself, he got to his feet, using his hands as little as possible. Listening for the sound of running water, he walked slowly for always, keeping close to the trees if he needed to rest. For awhile, he walked, until he reached a small stream.

He drank his fill, and stuck his face in the stream. The slow movement of the brook allowed him to study his reflection. The bruises on his face had receded to a weird green color, as, he assumed, the ones he had received from his beating, though most of these were covered by angry burns. He turned away. There was nothing he could do for himself. He felt a certain amount of gratitude toward the Warder for attempting to help but in their condition there was not much.

It was late evening by the time he had painfully made his way back to the camp. Exhausted he leaned his back against the tree, feeling shards of his broken ribs poke him uncomfortably. It had taken him a long time to get to and from the stream. An hour for that mere half mile. Of course it was primarily his... injuries, but he felt somewhat helpless. He could walk, his legs were fine if you did not count the burns. His hands were important, though, and the use of them was something he did not have. Thinking to himself, he waited for the Warder to come around, wondering how he had had enough strength to make it to the stream, nothing except for his need for water had driven him there. Perhaps he had a few more hidden surprises, some that would let them survive.

xxxx

Lain woke slowly, rising from the depths of sleep. As consciousness came back to him, he winced, wishing it hadn't. Memories flooded through his mind's eyes in a torrent, flashes of torture and waiting for death. Moving to rise caught him again, causing him to wince as his leg refused to move properly. A quick survey of his surroundings showed the Asha'man leaning against a tree, deep in thought; and not much else. He sat up finally, levering himself up with his good arm. Staring across the grass, a thought came to him suddenly. _I don't even know his name..._

"Asha'man," he said abruptly. "Can you stand?" He rose himself, less gracefully than usual. But then that was to be expected. He hadn't thought he would live to walk again... Shaking off gloomy thoughts, he refocused. Asha'man. Walk. Safety... Without waiting for a reply, he limped off towards the sound of water, thirst calling to him. He was suddenly aware of how bone dry his mouth was...

As he reached the small stream, he awkwardly knelt, splashing his face. Sitting at the edge, he dipped his legs in, letting the gentle current wash away the blood crusted on his legs. He gulped from an equally grimy hand, quenching his thirst. The cold water shocked his system, something else coming to mind. He hadn't eaten for days... If they didn't think of something soon, they would both die alone out here. Lain stood grimly, marching resolutely back.

As he sat again, dusting off a rock, he cocked his head at the man. "I don't even know your name..." he murmured, almost to himself. A small look flashed across the Asha'man's face, and realization dawned on him. He moved forward, gingerly crouching near him.

"How bad are your wounds?" he asked in a low voice.

xxxx

The Warder asked if he could stand before moving away, toward the stream. He watched him go. The Warder returned, looking slightly refreshed. Kneeling by his side, he spoke. "How bad are your wounds?" Gale shook his head.

"My ribs are broken pretty badly, I am burned quite badly in some places, and my hands are useless. I can walk, and that seems about all I can do. I will not channel any more. The risks are not ones I will take now that I am not in the camp." He looked down at his hands, where they were wrapped. "I can walk. This is a good thing, even though I am slow at it. I do not want to just give up and wait to die. I could get myself out in time. Right here is not a prime spot for recovering though. I suggest that we move to the stream, where there is water."

He painstakingly got to his feet, using his forearms to lift himself up, with aid of the tree. Gritting his teeth, he took a few shallow breaths to recover. If anything, his ribs encumbered him most, restricting many movements. He wouldn't be surprised if the Warder got fed up with his slow progress and just left. The man was healed, if not very well, his injuries had been extensive and had been healed late. Healing was one of his talents, though he could not travel more than a few miles, his gateway fell apart after this point.

He looked at the Warder, trying to recall what the whitecloak had called the man. Lain? Yes, he believed it was something close to that. He waited for the man to suggest a course of action, so he would not have to move more than he had to.

xxxx

Lain watched with concern as the Asha'man got up, levering his body with his arms to avoid his hands. Rising beside him, he watched the man carefully. He didn't have anything punctured in him, or he would be dead by now... Or at least, he should be.

"I don't want to give up either," he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Not yet, anyways... Not because of the Monster. "Let's go," he said, beginning to move off. He stayed close, however, hoping the Asha'man wouldn't fall over, or faint. The pain would be terrible. "So," he hazarded, picking his way carefully over the uneven ground. "What is your name, Asha'man?" Suddenly, he pitched forward, tumbling to the dirt. His foot had caught on a root, instead of going over it. Cursing the Creature with words that would make a wagon-driver gasp in shock, he rolled awkwardly to his feet, bereft of his usual grace. Climbing unsteadily to his feet, a realization suddenly hit him. He would never be the same. Never...

He determinedly pressed on, glaring ahead of him.

xxxx

Gale started off slowly. Trying to ignore the sharp protests of his ravaged body. They had gone only a few feet when the Warder tripped, cursing. Gale barely avoided tripping himself. He looked on sympathetically at the Warder, whose healing could never have reversed the terrible damage done to him. His name was asked of him, and Gale's mind, fuzzy and muddied answered after a few moments. "Gale. I am called Gale."

Somehow they made it to the stream. Gale was exhausted after the short trip and lack of nourishment. He sank down to the ground, panting with the effort of walking this far and using anything but his hands to lower himself. He sat hunched for a few seconds before straightening with a gasp as his ribs bit into him. He lay back, eyes closed, recovering. He truly was useless now, he thought, bitterly. He was beginning to doubt if he could make it out alive from the woods.

A while later he sat up, moving to a nearby rock. He leaned back. He thought, for having little else to do. Shaking his head slightly he wondered about how much had happened to him, in his short twenty years. He didn't want to die but he could feel himself almost slipping over the brink.

xxxx

"Gale. I am called Gale." Lain nodded, still cursing silently at himself. They seemed to crawl to the stream, collapsing and breathing heavily after the small trip. The oaths slipping through Lain's mind increased as he looked at the Asha'man- Gale- gasp. His ribs... Even from his spot a little ways from Gale, he could plainly see the broken bones, jabbing sharply out in places. The man sat back, his eyes closed, panting.

Lain slowly lay his body back on the soft bed of grass, wincing at a faint pain and stiffness. Time passed slowly, the silence broken only by Gale moving to a rock, leaning back. _That's it,_ thought Lain, seeing a hopeless look that mirrored his own flash across the man's face. _do something!_ Within seconds, he had stood, brushing himself off.

"Come on," he said, briskly striding over to him. "We've got to get you some help. I think we're still in Tar Valon territory, and even if we're not, close enough for people to open their doors. A farm, a village..." He trailed off, thinking. A village would be best, with a midwife or whatever they called her. Maybe she would even be a channeler, though this close to Tar Valon it was unlikely the Aes Sedai would pass over her. Considering Gale, he thought how best to help him. He seemed almost unconscious, his face pale and clammy. Finally, he dipped down, gently slipping his left arm under Gale's shoulders. Hauling him to his feet, he began to move slowly but steadily, in the opposite direction of the Monster's camp.


	8. Finale

I'm sorry my friends, but this is the last chapter to the Prologue. Thanks for reading, everyone!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gale seemed to float inside himself. He heard Lain's voice talking. He tried to shake his head when the tower was mentioned but he wasn't very successful. He was hoisted up, the heave pained him as everything else did and then they were moving. Gale did not know for how long he was moving, but he saw that there were houses suddenly on the horizon. They moved amongst these and made their way to one f the buildings. Herbs hung in the window. Finally they had made it out of the woods. They entered, Gale was set down. Sharp pain shot suddenly through him and was so strong that he passed out cold.

Gale woke. Opening his eyes he found that he was lying in a small bed, surrounded by down blankets. He lifted his head slightly. An elderly woman rushed over and pushed his shoulder back down. "Don't move or I'll concoct a draught to make you sleep for so long you'll have grandchildren as old as you are now." Gale blinked. It sounded like she was serious. More kindly, the woman added, "Your ribs took a while to set. You should keep them that way." He nodded, of course. He could feel tightly wrapped material around his chest.

"My companion?" His voice sounded weak, tired. The healer smiled.

"Do not worry about him." She swept from the room.

Gale lay there, thinking. He wondered if Lain had left, now that Gale would get better. He had hoped to say his thanks, without the man he surely would be dead. He wouldn't be leaving here for a while, so he could do nothing. The woman's words had given him nothing.

xxxx

Lain stood silently in the torn clearing, motionless so his black swirling cloak seemed to fade into the trees. His eyes were closed, his face calm despite the turmoil his soul had endured. Burns still shiny and red streaked across his face and hands where they were revealed from beneath the dull cloth. A small mound stood at his feet, a smaller bundle of wildflowers lain upon it. The bones of Mileni lay within there, picked clean by the eyes of the shadow. The village people had recognized the place by the description he gave, and asked no questions, for which he was grateful. He had gathered her remains along with the shreds of his cloak, weeping for her.

His lips moved in silent prayer, asking the Creator to watch over her for eternity. _Eventually, I will come to you,_ he told her silently. _I will return to you, my Mileni._ He bowed his head, tears streaming unheeded down his cheek, stinging in the small cuts.

He had had to stay in the village for a few days, a week perhaps. The fierce Healer they had there wouldn't let him rise from his bed, her muscled arm easily holding down his weakened frame. Only threats of strapping him to the bed had made him say put; he would never be put in bonds again. Better to die...

A slight noise behind him alerted Lain to the other man's presence, and he couldn't help but notice how close Gale had gotten before Lain had heard him. Differences from the bloody Bond. His hearing seemed less sharp, his senses less acute. His wounds stayed open longer. Lain slowly brought his head up.

"Hello, Gale," he murmured.

xxxx

Gale had borrowed a horse in the village and had ridden hard to get here. He knew that Lain would be here, and wanted to say goodbye and thank you before returning to the village. He still had to heal, but he felt this was very important. He was surprised when Lain did not hear him come up behind him but he did not blame the grieving warder for it.

"Hello, Lain. I thought to find you here." Gale looked down at the small mound that he knew held the remains of the Warder's Aes Sedai. "I am sorry for your loss. Her life was needlessly taken. It is a waste." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing he could say nothing to make it better. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me out of the wood, you saved my life. Not many would save an Asha'man." Gale put his hand on Lain's shoulder for a second in farewell. "May peace favor your sword." The Ashaman felt that the Borderland goodbye was appropriate for this. He could sense that Lain wanted to be alone.

He made his way over to the horse and swung up stiffly into the saddle. Gale had to return to the village and the watchful eyes of the healer. He turned the horse in the direction of the small village and looked back only once at the disheartened figure, standing in front of the woman that was so important to him. The Ashaman could only wonder how long the man would last. He heard that Warders who lost their bond did not last for very long afterward, that they choose death instead of a life without their bondmate. Gale sincerely hoped that Lain could pull through, and live, though in sorrow. He started up again, whispering under his breath, "And the last embrace of the mother welcome you home, though not before you have given this all you've got." Gale kicked his steed into a brisk canter, toward a path that would begin his healing. He knew that if he had survived the nightmare in the Whitecloak camp, that he could take the path of recovery to its end.

The sun warmed Gale's face as he continued on, and he stopped to appreciate the fields he as riding through. Gale didn't think that he would take this for granted again.

xxxx

Lain stayed silent as Gale said his goodbyes, not wanting his voice to give away his emotions. The Asha'man said his final farewell- quite formally actually, befitting the situation and paying respect to Mileni- before mounting his horse and leaving in the direction of the village that had taken them in. Gale would probably have to stay there a while longer before leaving- the bloody Healer again. A humorless grin plastered itself on his face at the thought as he bowed his head over Mileni's grave, closing his eyes.

At last, what seemed an eternity later, he straightened, blinking. A bay the village had given to him glared balefully at him, standing in a circle of clipped grass where he had staked it. Turning one last time to the mound of dirt, he pressed his fingers to his lips, stretching out his hand to her.

"Goodbye, Mileni," he whispered, walking slowly over to his mount. Saddlebags filled with food and blankets, along with a few waterskins hung on the back of the horse, clattering lightly as he climbed up. He pulled the reins gently towards the road, kicking his horse quickly to a gallop.

"Goodbye, my love..."


End file.
